


A Bloomsbury love story

by Ms_SackvilleWest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Condoms, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, HIV/AIDS, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Male Friendship, Men being in touch with their emotions, Misunderstandings, Pancakes, Past Drug Use, Romance, The Great British Bake Off References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_SackvilleWest/pseuds/Ms_SackvilleWest
Summary: Remus leads a happy life: he co-manages a bookshop, lives in east London with his two best friends and devours novels in his spare time. He also happens to have HIV. His only problem is his love life, really, because it's... a bit of mess. But everything changes when he walks into a pharmacy one day.Featuring a dazzlingly handsome stranger, late-night swims and pancake breakfasts!
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Argus Filch, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 98
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Prompt Exchange 2020





	1. A chaotic morning

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Muggle AU!!!! No magic! These are just a few suggestions of characters, but you could do anyone in the HP universe. Maybe one of the characters could be living with a physical or learning disability? ALL THE FLUFF and maybe some smut, please!
> 
>  **Dedication:**  
>  This story is for my anonymous HIV/AIDS source. Thank you for so openly sharing your life experiences with me. My biggest hope for this story is that it gets your message across: that an HIV diagnosis doesn't have to be the main plot, it can be a footnote in the wonderful novel that is life.

“James!” Lily’s shout from upstairs adds to the morning chaos, as James stomps through the kitchen with a half-packed sports hold-all slung over his shoulder. He kneels in front of their washing machine, sifting through a massive pile of laundry waiting to be washed.

“Jaaaaames!” There’s a thud of wardrobe doors and a shuffling sound. “Have you seen my scarf?” Lily’s voice is louder now, coming from somewhere near the top of the stairs. “I can’t find it anywhere!”

“Where on earth are those socks? I washed them just last week,” James mutters to himself, shoving aside shirts with sweat-stained collars, inside-out jeans, Lily’s favourite Tigger onesie and a Man United jersey.

Remus ignores his roommates’ usual morning mess, just eating his cereal at the kitchen table. Eyes on the novel propped up against the teapot, he turns the second-to-last page of The Railway Bazaar.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs. A second later, Lily bursts through the kitchen door. “Hey!” she says breathlessly, “do you guys know where my scarf is? I have to find it now or I’m going to be late for work!” The morning light filtering through the window illuminates the strands of hair that have slipped out of her ponytail. In the autumn sunshine, they glitter like a bonfire of golden harvest apples. 

“Sorry, haven’t seen it,” Remus shakes his head, not tearing his eyes away from the final paragraphs of his book.

“James?”

“Hmm?” James looks up from where he’s stuffing mismatched socks into his bag.

Lily raises her eyebrows at him impatiently. “My scarf?” 

“Uh, you mean the purple one? I think I saw it underneath the pillows of the sofa yesterday,” James gestures vaguely in the direction of the living room.

In a flash, Lily disappears. “AHA!” a triumphant shout follows. Scarf in hand, the redhead sweeps back into the kitchen. “I wonder who left it there! Probably one of you two again,” she tuts, leaning over Remus to grab a piece of toast. 

The boys share a look but wisely decide not to remind their scatterbrained roommate it’s usually her, not them, who loses possessions all over the house.

“What happened with Theroux’s wife then?” Lily chews and nods at Remus’ book just as he snaps it shut. “Did they get back together after he returned from Russia?” 

Unlike James, Lily shares his passion for reading. When they first met, at a book club Remus had seen advertised on one of the notice boards on campus, they’d bonded instantly over their shared love of Nadine Gordimer’s short stories.

Taking a sip of tea, Remus looks wistfully at the dog-eared book in front of him. It described the author’s train journey across the Continent in the mid-seventies, from London to Ceylon to the Soviet Union. “Well, she didn’t come meet him at the train station,” he responds, “so I guess they’re not getting back together.”

“Ah well,” Lily shrugs, taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea. “Serves him right for swanning off for several months.” She turns to James with a grin. “Maybe I’d leave you too then!”

“Leave me? Hah, I don’t think so,” her boyfriend joins them at the table, placing a quick kiss on her head. “Who else would help you find your scarves then?”

“Well it might be easier to find them if _someone_ did the laundry from time to time and didn’t leave smelly football clothes all over our house!” she retorts.

“Smelly? Hey! That’s my uniform!” He defends himself. “The marker of a good PE teacher is the smelliness of their clothes at the end of the day.”

Lily rolls her eyes.

“Plus, I don’t just stand on the sidelines, letting the kids play. I join in!” he continues.

“Yeah yeah, whatever” Lily waves her hand, “It still just sounds like you’re rolling around in the mud all day when I’m out there saving the world!”

James gasps in mock outrage and brandishes the toast rack at her like a sword, which leads to a fierce fight involving sticky marmalade spoons and cereal boxes.

Remus smiles as he observes his roommates. The three of them have been inseparable ever since they met at uni, and he couldn’t imagine ever living without their breakfast chaos and good-natured fights.

He gets up and sets his empty cereal bowl in the sink before heading to the hallway to grab his coat. Casting a quick glance in the mirror, he runs his fingers through his hair. Below his sandy-blond curls, the face staring back at him has shy eyes and soft lips. A friendly but ordinary face, he thinks. Not like any of the gay models Instagram keeps suggesting he follow. He turns to one side, looking at himself in profile. He still doesn’t feel very impressed. But it shouldn’t matter, really. If he ever does get into a serious relationship, he hopes whoever he’s with will have chosen him for reasons other than his looks.

He zips up his coat. “I’m heading out now!” he calls out to the kitchen.

“Geroff, don’t you even dare, you little - yeah, bye Remus” Lily shouts back, wrestling James to the ground by the sound of it.

“Mhhhpfpff” comes James’ muffled reply.

Chuckling, he shuts the front door of their slightly run-down, brick house and is greeted by a crisp October morning.

As a PE teacher, James could trump him or Lily in any fight, any day, but his friend also loves his girlfriend to bits and knows how much she enjoys winning. Remus is always charmed by the way James pretends to be overpowered by her.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking along the quintessentially British terraced homes that line their street. The neighbourhood yawns and stretches its way into the day: people picking up their morning paper, walking their dog, heading for work with a briefcase in hand.

He turns onto the main road, looking right and left before hurrying across. Just as he reaches the orange turnstiles of Leytonstone High Road station, however, he feels a vibration in his pocket and hears the familiar chime of his phone’s alarm.

“Ah bollocks,” he swears, instantly turning on his heel and hurrying back home.

When he pushes the front door back open, he almost bumps into James, who’s on his way out.

“You forgot - “ his best friend begins, holding out the little white bottle, just as Remus himself says “I forgot - “

They start laughing. “Right, thanks mate,” he smiles, taking his pills from James. He screws the cap off the bottle and shakes out one of the pale grey tablets, popping it into his mouth.

“Hmm,” he swallows and peers into the half-empty bottle. “Only one more bottle left after this one. I’ll have to order some more during lunch or after work.”

James swings his holdall over his shoulder. “Just don’t forget we’re getting curry and watching Bake Off tonight,” he warns. “Lils is all excited about it, she even tried to get me to bet five quid on whether or not that engineer would have to leave the show.”

Remus grins. “I’ll be there, I know how Evans gets when anyone’s late. Anyways, I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

With a hug, they part and head for work.

***

As the train enters the station, it’s already overflowing with commuters heading into the city centre. He gets on, finding a pole to lean against. He doesn’t have a book with him that morning, having just finished The Railway Bazaar, so he fishes out his phone and opens Grindr. The familiar black backdrop and yellow header appear, hundreds of small squares staring back at him. Torsos, torsos, more torsos, a sultry look, clean-shaved jaws, pouty lips.

With a ping, a message pops up. 

Charles87: _Yo wanna fuck?_

Remus rolls his eyes and clicks the message away.

A few seconds later, another one pops up 

BigDong: _Top or bottom?_

He clicks the message away as well and looks out the train window. 

Fried-chicken restaurants, estate agents and pawn shops pass by as they rattle through London, the sky a bright autumn blue. He remembers when Lily once asked him why he used Grindr. 

“Because I get lonely,” he’d shrugged. 

“So does using Grindr make you feel less lonely, or more lonely?” she’d asked, cocking her head. 

He’d looked at his phone, throat suddenly constricting. “More lonely,” he’d said quietly. She’d given him a soft smile and patted him on the shoulder, then gone to put the kettle on. Sometimes, he understands exactly why she’s so good at her job at the food bank in Walthamstow, where she works as a counsellor. 

Afterwards, he’d deleted the app and not installed it again for several weeks. But this morning, his thumb is scrolling again, mindlessly, aimlessly. Hoping.

Just then, the train pulls up at Blackhorse Road. He pockets his phone and makes his way through the morning crowds to change to the Victoria Line.

 _“Mind the gap between the train and the platform.”_ With a hiss, the doors shut and he is wedged against the glass by the other travellers, no space even to pull out his phone again. Instead, he busies himself reading the ads over their heads - a limited edition Halloween M&M, a new West End play going up. When he gets off at King’s Cross, he breathes a sigh of relief. 

Anonymous amid the morning hustle on Euston Road, he inhales the smell of the city: freshly brewed coffee from a stand on the pavement, a blast of sewage stench, Cornish pasties for sale, exhaust fumes of cabs, double-deckers and cars. 

The sunlight glints off the windows of the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel, its spires and red-brick beauty a triumph of Neo-Gothicism. He cranes his neck, marvelling at the landmark as he does every morning.

Crossing the road, he checks his watch. Only eight forty-seven. Enough time to take the long way past Cartwright Gardens. The little park is lined by a perfect row of rich-people homes, all gleaming front doors and stately windows. With every step, he soaks up the quiet that is only broken by the leaves rustling underneath his feet. 

He thinks about how different this neighbourhood is from where he and James and Lily live in Leyton. There’s a duality in him: part of him loves the mad multiculturalism, grubbiness and working-class feel of that area of London, all pubs and pints and football pitches, oriental delis and newsagents and launderettes. But another part craves the understated elegance and luxury of Bloomsbury. The streets around Russell Square and the bookshop exude learning, confidence, history. All things he never had, growing up.

Maybe that’s why Albus initially hired him to help run the bookshop, he thinks as he continues down Marchmont Street. The owner of Queer’s the Word always had a knack for seeing straight into people’s hearts, gently unravelling the dreams they keep hidden from the world.

The bell tinkles as he steps into the bookshop.

“Morning!” he calls out.

“Ah, good morning, my lad,” Albus Dumbledore peers at him from over his half-moon spectacles. 

The man sports what Remus has often thought must be the most impressive beard in all of England, a silvery-white mass of hair he’s tamed into a Viking plait that morning. As usual, he’s dressed in a mad array of colourful clothes, his spindly arms sticking out from a short-sleeved shirt with a pattern of roses, purple suede boots on his feet.

Someone who’s never met Albus Dumbledore wouldn’t hesitate to call him ‘eccentric’ or even ‘a wacko’, but Remus knows the man has the biggest, warmest heart. He’s even heard some of the customers good-naturedly call him ‘Daddy’ behind his back. Just like the bookstore itself, Albus Dumbledore is an institution in queer London.

“Deliveries come in yet?” he asks, taking his coat off.

“Just the one shipment of the latest Sarah Waters novel, we were low on stock. Oh, and I believe perhaps I ordered that anniversary edition of Stone Butch Blues, let me check…” Albus wanders off into the back, mumbling from among cardboard boxes and stacks of books.

Perhaps that’s the common thread, Remus smiles to himself as he walks up to the counter: both his workplace and home are equally disorganised, and neither of the messes have anything to do with him. Not that he minds, though. Since he was promoted to acting manager last year, he’s made sure the shop’s become a tad more organised, but still. There’s a certain homeliness to the chaos that he secretly likes.

He moves through the bookshop, preparing for the day’s first customers: straightening piles of literature, readjusting the chairs in the reading nook and opening the register. At nine sharp, he flips the sign on the window from “Closed” to “Open”.

It’s a relatively calm morning, between the busyness of summer’s Pride season and the start of the Christmas rush. Just a few of their regulars stop by, and one or two tourists.

In a lull between customers, while Albus is taking great care rearranging the Erotic Poetry section in the back, Remus opens the next paperback on his list of books to read. 

The Velvet Rage, this one’s called. He found it tucked among the non-fiction works the shop stocks, and it had intrigued him. Written by a psychologist, the cover promises insight into “contemporary gay men’s struggles with shame, anger and a myriad of other unexpected feelings as recent social, cultural and political changes have altered gay lives for the better.” 

He bites at his fingernail as he reads the summary. Remus knows quite a bit about shame. He’s been out and proud since he was thirteen and never felt ashamed about his sexual identity. But when he discovered he was HIV positive four years ago, his world turned upside down. 

The practical aspects of the disease have been surprisingly manageable. He’d reacted well to the first medication Dr McGonagall had prescribed and, apart from the occasional headache, suffered few side effects. Today, he just has to go to the clinic on Dean Street for a checkup once every six months, and the NHS covers the cost of his treatment, thank God. 

But when he went home the afternoon he’d gotten his diagnosis, he’d still felt an unexpected knot of shame in his stomach as he prepared to tell James and Lily. As if he’d somehow failed, let people down. Whether ‘people’ was himself or someone else, he didn’t know. He had sat on the sofa in their living room, hands squeezed between his knees, waiting for them to come home.

When they’d enveloped him in a bear hug as soon as he’d told them, he hadn’t been able to stop the tears from welling up. “It’s going to be alright, buddy,” James had assured him with his trademark conviction. “We love you,” Lily had given him a sloppy kiss on his cheek. 

Their reaction did a lot to quiet the shame. Still, it lingers somewhere deep inside. Maybe it is because he doesn’t really have any close friends who are also HIV positive. He doesn’t feel the need to talk about it all the time. But just, sometimes would have been nice.

There are days when he considers telling Albus. The subject hasn’t come up so far, which is why he hasn’t mentioned it yet. He suspects the shop’s owner would actually be very understanding. It’s impossible to tell Albus’ age - the silver beard and crow’s feet jarr with the sprightliness with which he rummages around the store and his amazingly up-to-date knowledge of the Eurovision Song Contest. Still, he’s pretty sure Albus was about his age when the HIV crisis first devastated the queer community. Maybe he had friends or loved ones who fell ill?

And that’s exactly what’s holding him back: he doesn’t know much about the man’s private life, past or present, and doesn’t want to reopen any old wounds. 

Some days, he wonders if maybe Albus already knows. Books like the one he’s just opened keep popping up in unexpected places in the bookshop, almost like magic – as if they’re waiting to be found by him.

He laughs under his breath, looking fondly at their twenty-one-square-metre space. If anywhere in the city would be tinged with magic, it would be their little shop.

“Goodness, it’s almost twelve already,” Albus ambles up to the counter. “Time sure flies when you’re in a thriving business like ours, doesn’t it?” His eyes twinkle.

Remus rolls his eyes. Ever since the new WH Smith opened around the corner, business has been slower than ever, and they both know it. Still, their loyal band of regulars keeps them afloat.

“Shall I pop out for lunch or do you want to go first?” he asks.

“Oh you go, you go,” Albus gestures generously, “I brought some home-made meatloaf with me, my neighbour Mr Filch brought it round yesterday. Poor chap. I think he’s desperately lonely. He had that cat, you know. Seemed like the love of his life. What was she called again? Madam Norris? Anyway, ever since she passed away, the man hasn’t known what to do with himself. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. He’s a surprisingly good cook! And you know what a disaster I am in the kitchen.”

Remus coughs politely. There was an unfortunate incident with a home-baked cherry sponge cake Albus presented him with on his birthday. Ever since, he’s wisely declined any food from the man except the occasional sherbet lemon. 

“Right, I’ll just go grab a sandwich then,” he gets up. “Be back in half an hour or so!”

“No rush, love, I’ll man the fort here,” Albus waves him off good-naturedly, refilling a jar of condom boxes by the till.

The doorbell chimes behind Remus’ back as he heads out for lunch.


	2. A Byronic hero

“That’ll be four pounds ninety-five, please,” the cashier drones, already eyeing the next customer in line. Remus usually brings lunch with him from home, but he’s treating himself to a chicken, cucumber and basil sandwich today. He hands her the money and stuffs the sandwich into his bag, glad to get out of the mad lunch rush at their local Prêt à Manger.

He squints against the midday sun and decides to have his lunch in Tavistock Square. Finding a half-occupied bench, he sits down and nods politely at the elder lady on the other side of the bench, who’s reading a copy of The Times.

As he tucks into his sandwich, he observes the people around him. The park is filled with smartly dressed office workers with briefcases. None of them seem to be able to take their eyes off their smartphones. 

Remus snorts as he takes another bite. On one of her rare and invariably awkward visits, Lily’s sister Petunia once looked down her nose at him as she found him reading a book, remarking that paper books were so ‘passé’.

“I’ve long since switched to Kindles,” she said snootily. “You should try it.” He made a polite, uncommitted noise, trying not to laugh as Lily rolled her eyes and made gag gestures behind her sister’s back.

He finds his phone useful for texting, Instagram and the occasional Grindr binge, but he would never spend all his time staring at its screen like the people in the park today. He’s old-fashioned that way: he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of the smell of freshly printed pages, of running his hand along the cracked spine of a novel and feeling the weight of the words in his hand.

A young gay couple passes him by, walking hand in hand. He watches them surreptitiously as he takes a sip of water. They look very hip, all slouchy sweaters and rolled-up jeans, one of them with a nose piercing and the other with turquoise hair peeking out from under a wool hat.

Remus suddenly feels old. He’s only thirty-tree, but some of the other men in the scene make him feel like a fossil. Maybe that’s why he’s been having such a hard time connecting with the few dates he’s picked up on Grindr lately. 

James has even teased him about it. “Another one you’re sending away then?” he remarked with amusement when the front door fell shut behind another stranger one Sunday morning, after an awkward hallway goodbye. “Don’t worry about it, mate. I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually. And if not, you know me and Lils will happily adopt you as our pet gay.” He laughed and ducked as Remus tried to slap him with a tea towel.

The fact is, Remus just feels tired when he thinks about his meaningless encounters with strangers. The sex is fine, and some of the guys he picks up are even quite sweet. 

But what are you supposed to talk about before and after? Lying next to each other, clothes strewn on the floor, sperm drying on stomachs, Remus always feels himself fall silent. 

Maybe also because a tiny, niggling voice in his mind scolds him for not telling these men he’s HIV positive. He never mentions it because his viral load has been undetectable for almost three years now, and he’s meticulous about safe sex and condoms. So the risk of transmission is zero. He knows that.

But still. 

Sometimes he feels like he betrays their trust.

But he is terrified that, given the choice, none of them would stay. He knows about the amount of prejudice still out there, even in the community. How little people understand how the virus can and – more importantly – can’t be transmitted.

So he leaves his status unspoken, where it forms a barrier between him and whatever might have been.

He shakes his head, balling up the sandwich wrapper and throwing it into the bin next to the bench. No need to dwell on the state of his love life now. He should go get his supply of pills for next month.

Walking out of the park, he remembers there’s a pharmacy over on Judd Street. He quickens his pace, his lunch break almost over. On the way, his phone buzzes with a text from Lily: “Remooooose! Can you pick up the curry tonight?? I just got booked for a last-minute counselling session at five, so I won’t have time :((( Pleeeeeease?” 

Ever since they found him by himself on the sofa, watching a documentary about Canadian moose late one Saturday evening when they came home from a date, James and Lily have lovingly called him Remoose.

He snorts at the heart-eye smiley and three poop smileys Lily ends her text with. He responds with a rainbow paraglider and a fried shrimp.

“Ah you’re the best!! LOVE UUUU” her response buzzes instantly.

Coming to the corner, he looks up and sees the pharmacy’s sign. He’s never been to this one before, usually getting his pills from the one by the station in Leyton, but it’ll be convenient to pick up his prescription tomorrow.

The glass doors slide open. He steps into the gleaming white interior, breathing in the pleasant, clean scent.

There are three people ahead of him in the queue, so he wanders through the store, waiting for his turn. He looks disinterestedly at a display of cosmetics before ambling into the next aisle, trailing his finger over boxes of period pads and pregnancy tests. 

With a smile, he remembers one time when he’d just moved in with Lily and James, when Lily’s period was late and there’d been a lot of drama and panic and the three of them had holed up in the bathroom together as she peed on a stick. They’d all stared intently at it, waiting for the result. 

When only one little stripe appeared, they’d whooped and hugged each other in relief and Lily had promptly demanded they all go to the pub to celebrate her “newly regained right to consume alcohol!”

“Sir? Your turn.” 

Remus turns around - and catches his breath.

The pharmacist looking at him from behind the counter is quite possibly the most beautiful man he has ever seen. 

He’s tall and slender, his raven hair tied back loosely into a knot that accentuates his high cheekbones. The blue of his shirt underneath his lab coat mirrors the blue of his eyes, which glitter like a handful of stars strewn across a winter’s sky. He looks noble and impossibly out of reach, like a Byronic hero in the Victorian novels Remus likes to read.

Remus just stands and stares, mouth slightly agape.

“Can I help you?” the pharmacist repeats expectantly. The corners of his lips twitch up into a smile.

He snaps back to reality. “Yes! Yes, of course, uhm, let me just…” He fumbles in his coat pockets, rooting around for his prescription among empty candy wrappers and Tesco receipts. He grows hot and feels a blush creeping across his cheeks… Ugh! If only he had some of James’ cool, or at least a bit of Lily’s ‘eh-who-cares’ attitude. But the pharmacist’s eyes on him suddenly make it very hard to think straight.

“Ah,” he breathes in relief, pulling out the crumpled prescription and placing it on the counter.

The moment the pharmacist picks it up, however, Remus realises his mistake. He closes his eyes in mortification. Of course he has no clue whether the handsome stranger is even gay, _but why does the first bit of information he reveals about himself have to be that he is HIV positive??_ Any chance he might have had with the man has now definitely flown out the window, he groans inwardly.

To his surprise, however, the pharmacist gives no sign of attaching any importance to the name of his medication. “A three-month supply of Genvoya? Let me just check our system,” he replies, turning to the computer. 

Remus watches as the man’s fingers fly across the keyboard. They’re long and elegant. He stuffs his own hands into his pockets.

As the pharmacist scans the results, he wonders how old the man is. Not much older than himself, he thinks, judging by – 

“I’m afraid we don’t have any Genvoya in stock, but if I put in the order now we’ll have it by lunch tomorrow. Would that be alright with you?” the pharmacist looks up.

Remus looks up quickly, hoping the man didn’t catch him checking out his arse. “Sure,” he nods overly enthusiastically. 

“Will you be paying with cash or by card?” The pharmacist speaks with a cultured, public-school accent, so different from Remus’ decidedly less posh voice.

“Ah yes, I eh, I’ve got a prepayment card.” he pulls out his prescription prepayment certificate from his wallet and hands it to the pharmacist. For a split second, their fingers brush against each other. But the moment is over before Remus can establish whether he imagined it or not.

“Right, if you could just confirm your address and sign here, please.” 

Remus thanks the gods he remembers how to sign his own name, and hastily scribbles his address on the form.

The pharmacist hands him an IOU slip, looking up at him with those blue eyes. Their colour reminds him of the description of the Sea of Marmara outside of Istanbul he read in The Railway Bazaar last night.

“Just come by tomorrow anytime after noon, I’ll have your order waiting for you.” 

Lost in the man’s gaze, Remus just nods, pocketing the paper slip and his prepayment card before heading outside.

As the doors slide shut, he simply stands on the pavement. The entire interaction took less than three minutes. Yet it feels as if he’s been hit by a double-decker bus.

What the bloody hell just happened?

****

The rest of the afternoon, Remus finds it impossible to concentrate. Quite a few customers come in, however, so both he and Albus have their hands full. But Remus’ mind keeps wandering. He’s never denied the fact that he has a type: dark-haired and slim. But rarely has he felt such a magnetic, irresistible pull to someone.

 _Who was that pharmacist?_ He curses himself for not having had the presence of mind to check out the man’s name tag.

As the afternoon slips away, he recommends books, rings up purchases and restocks the racks in a daze, constantly replaying his earlier interaction with the pharmacist. The man didn’t give any sign of knowing what Genvoya was for, but surely as a pharmacist he would instantly recognise the medication? Was he just acting professionally? Or maybe he isn’t the least bit gay, so Remus’ HIV status doesn’t matter either way?

On and on his thoughts churn, until Albus wakes him from his reverie just before five-thirty.

“Where have you been in that head of yours all afternoon, my boy? So distracted – was the new book you started on that good then?” He nods kindly at The Velvet Rage lying next to the till. 

Remus follows his gaze. “Oh! Erm… Yeah, sure. Yeah, it’s interesting.” He hasn’t read a single sentence since lunch. 

“Well then, why don’t you read some more tonight and tell me all about it tomorrow?” Albus pats him on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Away with you now, I can finish up.”

Leaving the bookshop in a daze, Remus joins the rush-hour streams towards Euston Road and the Tube. For once, he doesn’t mind being squeezed in with the other commuters, barely noticing the press of their bodies against his as the train burrows its way underground, the darkness intermittently replaced by bright lights as travellers embark and disembark at Highbury & Islington, Finsbury Park, Seven Sisters and Tottenham Hale. 

Changing to the Overground, he finds himself wedged in a corner by the carriage’s door, cheek pressed against the cool glass. London slides past outside, its sunset horizon ablaze in orange and rose. The skyline is engraved with the familiar jumble of terraced homes, chimneys, rooftops, office towers, strips of parkland. It is home.

As he walks down the stairs from the platform at Leytonstone High Road, his phone buzzes. Lily writes in their group chat.

“Remoose! Can you get some extra garlic naan? J also asks if we should do chicken vindaloo rather than biryani tonight?? Your pick!”

He slaps his forehead, having completely forgotten about their takeaway. Making a quick detour, he stops by The Maharaja, one of their regular curry places a few blocks from where they live. Waiting in a corner of the dining area for their order to be ready, he idly fingers his phone in his jeans pocket. He wonders what it would be like to see the pharmacist on Grindr.

Cursing himself for his silly wishful thinking, the thought still keeps him company all the way home.

He pushes open their front door with his hip, balancing his keys and backpack in one hand and the plastic bags with their takeaway in the other. “Dinner time!” he calls out.

“Ahhhh, that smells great!” James greets him in the hallway, black hair tousled as ever and still wearing his work-out clothes. He carries their dinner to the living room while Remus takes off his shoes.

Just then, the front door opens behind him and Lily walks in, looking frazzled and tired. But when she sees him and spots the second bag of takeaway next to him on the floor, she breaks into a big smile. “YES!” she envelops him in a hug. “My favourite man comes bearing gifts!”

From the other room, James calls out in mock indignation. “I thought I was your favourite man!”

They join him in the living room, where he’s taking the paper lids off the aluminium containers. The smell of the fragrant rice and spices is heaven.

“Hmmm,” Lily gives James a quick peck on his cheek and grabs a plate. She considers his comment with a mischievous smile. “Hard to say who my favourite man is, really. I _may_ reconsider after I’ve tasted the pudding you made for tonight, but I’m not making any promises!”

“You’re a terrible partner,” James shakes his head and heaps chicken vindaloo and lamb butter masala onto his own plate.

“I know,” she sighs happily, settling into her favourite corner of the sofa and rummaging through the pillows and blankets. “Hmm. Has anyone seen the remote?”

Remus smiles and rolls his eyes, handing over the remote control. “There you go, your highness. Unearthed especially for you.”

She blows him a kiss.

“Right, if you two lovebirds are done conducting an illicit affair behind my back, maybe we can start watching Bake Off now?” James plunks down onto the sofa next to Lily and steals a bit of her naan while Remus grabs a few more vegetable koftas. He sits down in the wing-backed armchair. “Whenever you’re ready.”

As the intro music fills the room, Lily speaks with her mouth full of curry. “Gosh, I’m so glad we’ve got all this food, I can’t believe how hungry this programme always makes me!”

The show’s contestants are making steamed school puddings that night. As they do every Thursday evening, the three of them engage in a lively discussion to determine which of the chefs will be sent home this time. 

When one of the two male presenters, who’s dressed in a bright yellow shirt with cupcakes on it, cracks a joke, James cocks his head. “One of my colleagues mentioned last week she actually had a massive crush on Noel Fielding. Isn’t he kind of your type, Remus? Tall, black hair, skinny legs, bit quirky?”

“OMG yes! He totally is!” Lily exclaims. “He looks like that Grindr guy you brought home last summer, what was his name again? Mark? Marcus?”

Remus groans and covers his face with his arm. “Marco. Don’t remind me. He was the one who brought that giant vibrating butt plug with him… “ He shudders. “No thank you. Although I guess Fielding isn’t bad,” he considers the presenter.

But his mind instantly compares what he sees on the telly screen to the pharmacist. The pharmacist who, without a doubt, is much more elegant than Noel Fielding. And who he can’t imagine would ever joke around ridiculously the way Fielding does, not to mention his sense of style. From the little he saw that day, he likes the pharmacist infinitely better.

“Oooooh you’re imagining what it would be like to shag Noel Fielding, aren’t you! I see it on your face, Remoose!” Lily teases, taking another bite of naan.

“Am not!” Remus huffs, but his red cheeks give him away.

Luckily, Lily doesn’t press the issue. Despite her overinvestment in his private life, Remus appreciates the way his friend instinctively seems to understand when it’s time to back off. Neither of them ever openly pries, trusting Remus will open up of his own accord when he’s ready to talk. It’s one of the things he likes best about their friendship.

“Oh man, I’m so full,” James puffs, sagging into the sofa pillows. 

“Same here,” Remus yawns, wondering secretly if the pharmacist also enjoys Indian food.

“You boys are such lightweights, I could easily polish off one of those right now!” Lily shakes her head at the screen, where the contestants have moved on to making melted chocolate puddings with a core of peanut butter for the next challenge.

“That peanut butter is disgusting, though,” James frowns. He’s the one who usually does the cooking in their household: Mrs Potter, who’s an excellent cook, taught her only son all her recipes from an early age.

“Well, if you’re that appalled by what they’re making, maybe you could show us what you’ve whipped up for us tonight?” Lily peers at him happily from underneath her blanket, like a little owl. 

“Cheers to that!” Remus chips in.

“Alright alright, you bottomless pits, I’ll get our pudding ready.” James stacks their dinner plates and carries them to the kitchen. “Just pause the show for a while so I don’t miss anything,” he calls out over his shoulder.

While James puts the finishing touches on dessert in the kitchen, Lily looks over at Remus. “How was your day then, babe?”

“Mmm. Yeah. It was... good. Really good, actually.”

“Aww I’m glad. You know, I really like Albus. He’s so nice. Must be fun working with him instead of Bitchy Bertha,” Lily frowns before launching into a long rant about her passive-aggressive colleague Bertha Jorkins, whom she’s had a workplace feud with from day one.

Remus listens politely, humming and rolling his eyes at all the right points, and wonders whether the pharmacist also has any awful colleagues who make his work life a nightmare.

“Alright, lemon meringue pudding time!” James interrupts their discussion, carrying in his latest triumph.

Both Bertha Jorkins and the mysterious pharmacist temporarily forgotten, they tuck into the deliciously airy citrus pudding and tune back into Bake Off to watch the contestants achieve varying degrees of success with their trifle-terrine showstopper challenge. 

Later that night, Remus brushes his teeth in the bathroom, perched on the edge of the tub. He thinks about the IOU slip in his wallet.

Tomorrow, he can go back to the pharmacy to pick up his order. Tomorrow at noon. Just fourteen more hours.

He feels a funny flutter in his stomach as he spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth. 

Casting a final look in the mirror, he smiles shyly before turning off the light. 


	3. Maybe, possibly, a date

As Remus walks along Judd Street the next morning and spots the pharmacy’s sign a few stores down, he nervously runs a hand through his hair. His order won’t be ready until noon today, he knows that. But still, something made him decide to take a detour on his way to work.

Heart beating in his chest, he wipes his sweaty hands against his skinny jeans. He doesn’t even know the place’s opening hours. But pharmacies usually open around nine, don’t they? So maybe the pharmacist’s already there... 

Taking the last couple of steps, he comes to a halt in front of the glass sliding doors and sees -

the lights are still off.

Closed. The pharmacy’s still closed. Remus exhales loudly, not knowing whether to laugh at himself or be disappointed. 

Maybe it’s all for the best, he thinks, spotting his own pale reflection in the glass. He wouldn’t have known what to do really, if he’d actually seen the man all by himself in the pharmacy before the first customers arrive. He’s already nervous enough as is. He took forever to decide what to wear that day, which is not like him at all. In the end, he’d settled on his favourite shirt and extra tight jeans, paired with some Chelsea boots.

He drags the toe of one of his boots along the pavement, looking at his watch. Five to nine. A part of him wants to wait and see if the pharmacist will arrive and they could casually bump into each other… But he’ll be late for work then.

Eventually, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and hurries away, disappearing around the corner. He’ll come back after noon then, when his order’s ready for pickup.

That morning, time in the bookshop proceeds fitfully. There are moments when Remus could swear the hands of the clock stand completely still, then the next time he looks up a whole hour has flown by in what felt like mere minutes.

Remus is grateful for the steady stream of clientele keeping him busy, so he can avoid thinking about the pharmacist. Business is alright: he sells a boxed set of the complete Tales of the City, a copy of the latest Alan Hollinghurst and the DVD of A Single Man. He’s just gift-wrapping some books for a petite trans woman who’s one of their regulars, when the clock springs to twelve. Remus swallows.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” he nods distractedly at the customer as he hands her her bag.

Albus’ cat-grieving neighbour has apparently taken to permanently preparing home-made lunch boxes for Albus now, so Remus knows he’s free to go whenever. This is it then: the moment he fell asleep thinking about yesterday.

Five minutes and a short walk later, he runs his hand through his hair again and steps into the pharmacy. He feels like he’s turning the first page of an unread novel, infinite possibilities stretching out in front of him.

As he walks up to the counter, the pharmacist appears from the back room. Remus’ breath catches in his chest as a smile breaks across the man’s face. It’s like a sunrise. Is he imagining things, or do the pharmacist’s eyes briefly linger on his body? There’s such a confidence to him, an ease and openness Remus himself has never felt. And he’s even more handsome than he remembered. Remus swallows as he realises how much he wants to devour the chapters of this particular book.

“Hello there,” the pharmacist nods with a glimmer in his eyes. “You were picking up an order, right?”

Remus glances at the IOU in his hand and nods. “Number 54B7,” he scrapes his throat. There are a few other customers milling in the store, and he notes the pharmacist doesn’t say the name of the medication he ordered out loud. He just discretely hands Remus three little white bottles. When he does so, the sleeve of his lab coat rides up, revealing a slender wrist and a leather bracelet.

“Three months’ supply, as prescribed. Instructions are included in the leaflet. Just remember to take them as regularly as possible, best to set an alarm if you think you might forget.” 

Remus shifts sheepishly, wondering whether the man has somehow guessed James and Lily have to remind him all the time to take his pills. 

But the pharmacist just smiles. “Also make sure to take them with food so they can be properly digested. Many find breakfast a convenient time.” His eyes are impossibly clear and blue.

Remus has somehow forgotten how to conduct a normal human conversation, so he just nods and mumbles a quick thank you, relieved his voice sounds somewhat stable.

Just as he pockets the bottles and turns to go, the pharmacist speaks up again.

“You know, it’s my lunch break soon, I was thinking of getting a sandwich. If you haven’t eaten yet, perhaps you’d like to join me?”

Remus spins around and gapes at the man, who’s already pulling off his lab coat while a female colleague prepares to take over from him. “Me?”

“Mmm,” the pharmacist hums, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Unless you’re not into lunch?” He raises one eyebrow suggestively.

The unspoken undercurrent sends an electric jolt through Remus’ lower belly. If his life had been a medieval romance, he suddenly thinks, this is where he would have swooned. But he pulls himself together. “Lunch,” he nods with a ridiculously pleased grin.

“Alright,” the pharmacists winks at him. “Let’s go then.” As he grabs a black leather jacket from a coat rack at the back, his eyes meet Remus’. 

“My name is Sirius, by the way.”

***

They walk through Bloomsbury as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if they’ve known each other forever and go for lunch promenades every day. Only Remus feels like a mysterious writer has suddenly taken over the script of his life and he has no idea how to react to the sudden plot twist. 

_Sirius_ , he keeps repeating in his head, tasting the soft sibilant sounds and liking the way they curl around his tongue. His heart is a bird in flight and he’s acutely aware of the other man walking next to him, of how soft his dark locks look from up close.

“How about Il Caffé? They do a mean panini and their flat whites are very good,” Sirius jerks his head at a coffee bar across the street. His suave pronunciation of the place’s name makes it sound as if he’s fluent in Italian.

But Remus frowns and takes in its exterior. “Looks a bit snobby, doesn’t it?” he says before he can stop himself. “I mean,” he stumbles, “I usually just grab a sandwich at Tesco’s, or Prêt if I feel like splurging, and then… eat it in the park.”

Sirius turns around with an incredulous look on his face. “Really? How...bohemian.”

His reaction suddenly makes Remus feel acutely self-conscious. He curses himself for sounding so decidedly un-posh while Sirius clearly comes from a very different social class.

“I don’t mind going to the coffee bar, really,” he tries to save the situation. “It sounds nice – ”

But Sirius throws back his head and laughs. The sound is carefree and joyful, and not at all judgemental.

“You know what, you’re absolutely right, it _is_ a terribly stuck-up place, actually. I like your way of thinking much better. Tesco’s and the park it is!”

Remus exhales in relief and smiles.

When they find an empty bench in Tavistock Square Gardens, each with a sandwich and a drink, Remus is surprised by how close Sirius decides to sit. The man spreads himself out over the bench, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. The sunlight glints off the silver chains of his biker boots. Turning to look at Remus, he casually wraps an arm over the back of the bench, almost close enough to touch his shoulder.

Remus doesn’t know whether to sit up straight or lean into the arm.

“So,” Sirius looks at him in amusement, as if he senses his discomfort. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” He suddenly feels uncomfortable, remembering the one fact the pharmacist already knows about him. A tiny voice in the back of his mind wonders whether this is where Sirius is going to ask him where he got HIV.

But Sirius takes a bite of his sandwich and holds his gaze, chewing. He swallows. “Everything,” he says, without specifying.

_I could drown in those eyes_ , Remus thinks as he takes a sideways look at the man next to him, _I could lose myself in the safety and danger in their crystal-blue depths, and answer any question you asked of me_.

“Well,” he hesitates. “I’m the acting manager of a small bookshop just around the corner, Queer’s The Word. Name says it all, really, I s’pose. The owner’s wardrobe is a cross between Prince circa Purple Rain and a Hawaiian beach bar, and he’s more than a bit bonkers. But he’s nice and doesn’t micromanage and basically lets me read in peace whenever there aren’t any customers in the shop.”

“You like to read?”

“Oh, I love it!” Remus breathes, and proceeds to tell Sirius all about his favourite books and the authors he admires and the genres he likes best and -

He snaps his mouth shut when he realises he’d been talking Sirius’ ear off. With those intense eyes on him, he’s completely forgotten to ask any questions in return. “Gosh, sorry,” he blushes. “When I start talking about books I get a little bit…”

But Sirius just shakes his head and smiles softly, holding his gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with enthusiasm. Never be ashamed for the things you like, Remus.”

It’s the first time Sirius has said his name. Remus feels a shiver run down his spine at the sound of it. He’s suddenly very aware of how close they’re sitting. His eyes drop to Sirius’ lips, which are perfectly arced and look infinitely kissable. The lull in their conversation is almost tangible, all other sounds nearby - the honking cabs, the flapping of pigeon wings, passers-by talking into their phone - receding in the space between them.

He can almost feel Sirius’ hair tickle against his face, they’re so close. His eyes move up to meet Sirius’, and his breath hitches at the look of hunger he finds there. If he just leaned forward the slightest bit now, they could… 

“Excuse me, were you two planning on leaving? Only all the other benches are taken and I really need to change my son’s nappy.”

A young man with a baby in his arms looks down at their empty sandwich wrappers. The child seems perfectly happy, but the man looks like he hasn’t slept in days. There are dark circles of fatherhood under his eyes.

“Of course,” Sirius instantly pulls back, already standing and brushing the crumbs off his jeans. “It’s all yours.” He’s the epitome of well-bred manners, a modern day courtier. The man gratefully drops down to the bench, all nappy bags and cuddly toys and prams.

Sirius turns back to Remus. The spell is broken by the sudden awkward distance between them.

“I should be getting back to the pharmacy. I promised my colleague I wouldn’t be long.”

Remus doesn’t know what to say. He makes sure to keep the disappointment off his face. “Right, of course. Me too. Thanks for lunch.”

Sirius opens his mouth as if to speak, but decides against it. He swings his leather jacket over his shoulder, still looking at Remus with eyes like glittering opals. 

“Any time,” he says with a slight bow of his head. Then he turns and strolls away, owning the neighbourhood with the most casual swing of his hips.

Remus is left standing next to their bench. The young father’s now changing his baby where Sirius was sitting just minutes ago. 

He doesn’t know if they’ve just been on a date, but as he watches Sirius round the corner, a few ochre leaves floating down from the trees above, he desperately hopes it was.

***

As he comes home that night, James is making risotto in the kitchen while Lily sits next to him on the counter, texting her friend Marlene. When Remus walks in, she gives him a cheerful hi without looking up from her phone. Once she does glance up, however, she slowly puts down her phone.

“Hello darling. How was your day?” She looks at him intently.

Something about her tone makes Remus quirk his eyebrow. “Same as always,” he tries to sound breezy. “Although perhaps we sold a bit more lesbian erotica than usual.” He sits down at the kitchen table. “Why?”.

If he didn’t know her as well as he does, he would’ve missed the slight mischievous narrowing of her eyes that’s a clear sign she’s up to something.

“Oh, no reason,” she says sweetly. “Only James happened to remark you were wearing your dark green shirt today. You know, the one you usually save for dates you’re very, very nervous about. ” She looks pointedly at his outfit. “AND the skinny jeans I distinctly remember telling you last week looked very hot on you. So, you know… just thought I’d… point that out.”

James looks over his shoulder from where he’s adding a splash of wine to the pan and gives Remus an apologetic smile.

Bugger it. His friends know him too well.

“Oh eh,” Remus stalls, trying to buy himself some time. “You know, just eh…”

“- trying to impress Albus? Yeah, nope, not buying that one, mister,” Lily grins. “Spit it out.”

He slowly lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Okay, so, here’s the thing,” he begins, as Lily moves to sit next to him and props up her chin with her elbow resting on the table. James turns and leans against the hob, a tea towel slung over his shoulder. The risotto simmers softly behind him, exuding a delicious smell of mushrooms and chicken stock.

“I went to pick up my meds yesterday, at this pharmacy I’d never been to before, close to work, and there was this guy…”

Once he’s started, Remus is suddenly eager to share everything with his friends, the story rolling off his tongue.

“...and then we just said goodbye after lunch and eh, well, that’s that.”

“Remus, that’s wonderful!” Lily’s face breaks into a broad smile.

“You think so?” he breathes, suddenly nervous and wondering how they interpret his chances with Sirius.

“YES!” she practically bounces in her chair. “He sounds like some kind of knight in shining armour!”

“I don’t know…” Remus bites his lip, looking over at James. He can usually count on his friend to offer a slightly more realistic perspective. “I just can’t stop thinking about the way he didn’t say a word about my diagnosis. I mean, obviously he knew, right? Does that mean he’s not gay? ‘Cause surely otherwise he’d say something about it, right?”

James, who’s just ladled more stock over the rice, shrugs and smiles at him. “But he asked you to have lunch with him, that’s a positive sign. And you seem really happy when you talk about him. I haven’t seen you this interested in someone since… well, since forever, I suppose?” 

Lily nods fervently. “It was definitely a date, Remus!”

But Remust feels all of his anxieties flooding back. “What if he thinks I’m completely disgusting because I’m HIV positive??” he bursts out. The words are laced with the insecurity that’s been building up in him over the past forty-eight hours.

The other two gape at him.

“What are you talking about?” James frowns.

“You know,” Remus mumbles miserably, “What if he’s got this picture of me as some kind of party queen who’s offered his ass up to everyone at sleazy orgies and got infected that way? Or what if he doesn’t want to date me because he’s convinced I’m going to pass it to him, or that I’m going to get AIDS and drop dead in five years? Or, or what if - “

“Remus,” Lily stops him, laying her hand over his. “Has anyone actually ever said any of this crap to you?”

“...no,” he admits.

“Okay, so despite the fact that this Sirius chap invited you to have lunch with him, you think he would somehow be more prejudiced and small-minded than _any_ of the people you’ve met or talked with before, _ever_?” she cocks an eyebrow.

“...well, when you say it like that…”

“It’s not the way I’m saying it, silly!” she gives him an exasperated smile. “It’s just, could it be that maybe it’s not other people saying or thinking these things about you, but you thinking them about yourself?”

The silence between them is only broken by the soft sputtering of the risotto in the pan. Underneath it, the blue flames of the gas burner flicker and dance. The smell of gas always reminds him of his childhood, when his mother was still alive and she’d cook Sunday breakfast for him. Remus feels his throat clog up.

“Maybe,” he whispers. 

“Remember when you’d just gotten diagnosed?” James sits down next to him, gently. “You were so scared and sad… You kept apologising, even though there was nothing at all to apologise for.”

Remus smiles weakly, remembering. “You two were great. You made me feel like it wasn’t that big a deal, that we were going to get through it together and you would always love me, no matter what.” He chuckles slightly. “Hah, I remember worrying I was going to have to take a million pills a day and get horrible diarrhoea and my hair would fall out and I’d look like some kind of living zombie.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Right, welcome to medication in the twenty-first century, drama queen.”

“But, you know,” Remus counters, “you two are my friends. Of course you reacted well. I don’t know if Sirius will feel the same...”

James squeezes his shoulder. “Just talk about it with him, mate. I’m sure he won’t judge you. You can always tell him how things work, explain that your viral load is undetectable these days and that he has extremely little to worry about.”

“And if he does go all weird,” Lily adds with finality, “it would just be a sign that he’s not the one for you, alright? You’re our Remoose. You’re the best, and you deserve someone who sees that. The fact that you have HIV has nothing to do with that.”

Remus feels tears prickling behind his eyelids, and he coughs in embarrassment. “You two,” he shakes his head, and surreptitiously wipes a hand across his eyes.

“We know,” James winks at him. “Now are you having some of this risotto, or are you just going to sit here being hard on yourself all night?”

Remus laughs and gets up to help his friend set the table.

***

Later that night, while James is out for a run, Lily knocks on his door. She holds up a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and two spoons. “Salty caramel, your favourite,” she sings.

He chuckles and makes room for her next to him on the bed. He notices she has her iPad with her.

“What’s that for?”

“We, darling, are going to use my superior investigative skills to find out everything there is to know about your man on the world-wide interwebs,” Lily opens a new browser window.

“Oh no we’re not! Lils, come on - that’s his privacy!”

She gives him a particularly unimpressed look and navigates to Facebook. “Remus, have you been living under a rock? _Everybody_ does this these days. In fact, I would be surprised if he’s not doing the exact same thing right now.” Her fingers type “S I R I U S”, before he has time to protest. “Besides, don’t you want to see if we can find some extra hot pictures of him?” 

She gives him a sly smile, slowly sliding a spoon of ice cream between her lips in what looks an awful lot like fellatio.

Remus purses his lips, watching the spectacle. 

“Oh, alright then,” he sighs, making her punch his arm with glee, “but you better share some of that ice cream with me!”

Together, they pool the few facts they know about Sirius to try and track him down. It takes them longer than expected (and a great many spoons of ice cream), as it turns out there are zero Facebook profiles listed in London under the name of Sirius, he doesn’t seem to have an Instagram profile and LinkedIn doesn’t deliver any results either.

Remus has all but given up when Lily suddenly sets the ice cream tub aside and grabs his arm. She’s been trawling through old party pictures taken at a gay club near the pharmacy.

“Is this him??” she takes the spoon out of her mouth. “He looks exactly the way you described.”

Remus peers at the photo, sitting up straighter. Several of the partygoers are tagged in it. “Oh my god,” his chest suddenly feels tight. “Yes,” he breathes, “yes that’s him! We found him!!”

Together, they click through to the pharmacist’s profile.

“Padfoot Snuff,’” Lily reads. “Hmm. What a weird name. Guess he’s one of the smarter ones, hiding his identity. I googled Bitchy Bertha’s new boyfriend at work the other day and found the bloke in no time. He’d even included his real address on Facebook! Hah! What a joke.”

But Remus is barely listening, already clicking through Sirius’ profile pictures, mesmerised.

“Show me then,” Lily leans in eagerly. “Ooh I can see why you like him. That man is HAWT!”

Remus tuts and swats at her, but he wholeheartedly agrees.

There are pictures of Sirius on a sofa with friends, Sirius leaning out the window smoking a cigarette, Sirius skiing down a slope in a winter’s fairytale landscape, Sirius cheering at a music festival. He’s often surrounded by friends, looking straight into the lens with an almost challenging smirk.

In quite a few of the photos, he’s riding a vintage motorbike or working on the bike in what looks like a garage. Remus can’t help the way his cock twitches at the sight of Sirius straddling the motorbike in leather trousers.

“Lils?” there’s a muffled call from downstairs.

“Ah, sounds like James is back from his run. I promised I’d have some tea with him after, better head down,” Lily hops off the bed. “I guess I’ll just leave my iPad with you then?” she smirks at him.

He tries to deny what she’s implying, but she just pats him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your new-found treasure trove of porn, babes.”

Before he can respond, she’s shut the door and he’s alone in his bedroom.

Remus settles back into the pillows and props the tablet up next to him. It feels a bit perverse, spying on the private life of a man he barely knows, but the pictures are a drug and he wants to see more of Sirius. 

Sirius drinking a pint outside a bar on a summer’s evening. Sirius wearing a silly hat on New Year’s Eve. Sirius with grease smeared over his face and tools spread out in front of him in the garage.

Suddenly, he pauses. There’s an old profile pic of two years ago: a selfie, slightly hazy and underexposed. Sirius is lying on his back in bed, raven hair tousled from sleep, a small smile playing across his lips. He looks into the camera from underneath long eyelashes. Remus swallows. The sheets are rumpled around him and his chest is bare, soft pink nipples proudly on display.

Remus’ hand trails down to his pyjama bottoms. 

Sirius holds his gaze as if the photo was taken just for him. As if he woke up next to Remus, a dream in his bed. 

Loosening his pyjama drawstrings, he slips his hand underneath the fabric. He gasps as his fingers graze his hard shaft. His eyes don’t leave the screen. He can almost hear Sirius’ heartbeat, feel the caress of the sheets against his own bare body as he lies next to him.

He wraps his hand around his erection, stroking it with steady movements. “Morning, handsome,” Sirius breathes. Remus bites his lip, something tight in his chest.

Sirius smooths a hand over the plane of his abdomen, teasing him. He can’t keep his eyes from following the trail of dark hair running from Sirius’ navel to where the sheets hide his cock from view. “Like what you see?” Sirius’ husky voice asks.

Remus’ eyes flutter closed in the darkness of his bedroom. His hand moves, the agonizingly slow up and down making him rock hard. It feels so fucking good. He wants to taste Sirius. Wants to run his tongue over his chest, his body in the light of morning, draw the sheets away and see him spread out for him on the bed in all his masculine beauty.

“I want you, Remus,” Sirius’ voice is laced with promise. His slender fingers skim over his nipple and he gasps at the touch.

Remus is mesmerised by the fantasy, his breathing shallow. He speeds up, pumping into his fist.

Bringing his hand to his mouth, Sirius slips out a cat-like tongue and laps at his fingers, wetting them before returning to play with the pebbled nub of his nipple. “How d’you like to see me do something else with my fingers,” he whispers, “maybe fuck myself for you?” 

Remus all but moans at the thought, desperate to see Sirius’ fingers find their way down between his arse cheeks, circle and breach himself just for Remus’ pleasure. Precum wells up from the head of his cock, slick against his palm. He groans. It feels so good, so goddamn good. His hips rut up to meet his hand.

Scenes flit through his mind, faster now. Sirius arches his back, leans into his touch. “Remus,” he breathes, “I want to feel you inside of me.” His throat is revealed like an offering, all milk and honey. The sheets pool at his hips and _oh god_ he has the most perfect cock, all hard and thick and Remus wants to take it into his mouth, wants to suck the man off, wants to bat away the hand Sirius has been preparing himself with, see him stretched open and ready, position himself and –

His body tightens as everything blurs into desire, his thighs tremble with longing. The pleasure building in his stomach is almost painful. He fists his cock faster, faster, he wants more, wants to cover Sirius with his own body, their shafts touching, rutting against each other, wants to slip between the man’s thighs –

“Remus,” Sirius’ eyelids flutter as he looks up, pinned to the bed by Remus. “Fuck me – I want you to fucking take me.”

At the sudden image of Sirius with his legs drawn up, eager and hungry and thighs spread open, Remus’ hips buck up one last time and he comes, releasing hot squirts of spunk over his stomach. 

Sirius’ name is imprinted in white on his body. 

He slumps back into the mattress, sticky and covered with his own seed. 

The screen of the tablet next to him has blacked out. With a breathless touch, he makes the image flicker back to life. He exhales softly. Those lashes. Those shoulders and slender hips. He smiles back at the man. Wants to run his hands through Sirius’ hair and snuggle into his side.

Instead, he wipes the cooling spunk off his belly and pulls his pyjama bottoms back up. In the bathroom, he gives himself a quick wash with a washcloth.

When he slips back into bed and turns the light off, he reaches over to shut down the tablet.

That’s when an accidental click reveals Sirius’ second most recent profile picture.

The pharmacist has his arm slung around another man, moving in as if to kiss him. The man’s impossibly sensual lips are half open as he challenges the camera. His eyes are pools of pride and hauteur, the world is made for him. His cheekbones are icepicks sharp enough to cut glaciers. It is not clear who has staked a claim on whom, but the two look as if they were born for each other. 

Remus suddenly feels sick, a screw around his heart.

His eyes rapidly scan the page - 62 likes, 13 heart-eye smileys. Uploaded less than three months ago.

Then he sees the comment. Written by a dark-haired woman with bright purple lipstick. Andro Meda, her profile says.

“You two! SO handsome together - congrats on the move. Kisses to my two favourite men, will visit you babes soon.”

Sirius isn’t living alone. He’s sharing a home with someone, with a painfully handsome stranger. 

And it’s clear for all the world that they’re much, much more than “just friends”.

Remus stares at the picture for a long time, his knuckles white around the edges of the tablet. In the darkness of his room, the light of the screen illuminates his face like a ghost.

Later, it takes him hours to fall asleep.


	4. Avoidance

“Remus?” Lily’s voice is laced with concern.

He’s been listlessly toying with his porridge at the breakfast table for the past fifteen minutes, not even bothering to open the book in front of him.

“Are you alright?”

He briefly meets his friends’ worried eyes before glancing back down. The porridge has congealed into a lump of grey. He presses his lips together. “I’m fine.”

“Does it have anything to do with Sirius?” James ventures bravely. Lily must have told him they found his Facebook profile.

He pulls his chair back with a loud, scraping noise and takes his medication from the shelf. “There’s nothing with Sirius,” he manages. “It’s not going to work out.” His words shatter on the kitchen floor. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

He swallows his pill down with some tea. “I have to go to work.” He doesn’t look at them.

“Okay, Remoose.” James’ voice is kind and warm and the sound of his nickname makes Remus want to flee from the room and ask for a hug all at the same time. “Just text us if you want to hang out later tonight or if you feel bored at work.” They all know boredom is not what he’s struggling with.

“I will,” he nods, biting his lip. “Thanks.”

With that, he leaves for work. Doing everything he can to put Sirius out of his mind. 

It’s no use pining over a man who’s already in love with someone else. He knows that. But it still hurts.

***

The next two weeks disappear in a blur, October’s golden clarity making way for the duller, more depressing smudge of grey and drizzle that is London in autumn. Remus doesn’t mind: the weather mirrors the disappointment he tries to stamp down whenever it claws at him.

He does not eat in Tavistock Square Gardens, having his lunch in the back room of the shop instead. He does not walk along Jude Street where the pharmacy’s sign still flickers green, sticking to the most necessary route instead. Home, commute, work, commute, home. He does not log on to Facebook, wary of the platform’s “Friend Suggestions”.

He does not log on to Grindr either.

Sometimes, after work, when the light is fading, he walks with his hands in his pockets, walks past Russell Square, through Bloomsbury (thinks of Virginia Woolf, thinks of her feverish unhappiness and her languor and her brilliance, thinks of stones in pockets), walks until he reaches the Strand and he can smell the river.

In the kindness of the evening, he will stand on the embankment and look out over the Thames. Winding its way through the city like a heartbeat, a companion. Its low waves lap up the lights of the south bank, and if he listens carefully he can hear the wind on the water.

When he goes home at night, James serves him dinner without asking questions and Lily squeezes his hand when they watch Bake Off on the sofa, the three of them sharing a blanket.

In mid-November, he joins Albus at the shop on a Monday, his day off, to help with stocktaking. It is mindless, headache-inducing work, but the feel of the books in his hands, the stacking and counting and noting and restacking, is soothing. It takes the edge off, books have always taken the edge off for him, as Albus chatters about his neighbour’s decision to get a new cat and asks him if he would like to have a lemon drop with his tea. Yes thank you, he says.

And the candy in his mouth, slippery and slick and sweet, makes him think that maybe everything will be alright. He has James, and Lily, and his books, and he will be alright. He does not need any other dreams.

***

The following morning, he drops by the Dean Street clinic at eight-thirty to have his blood taken before his next appointment with Dr McGonagall. Sitting in the sleek waiting room with its black and red leather chairs, he marvels again at how the clinic is nothing like the sterile, too-bright hospital rooms he was expecting to have to spend his days in when he first got diagnosed.

“Mr Lupin?” a voice briskly calls out his name.

When he catches sight of Nurse Pomfrey looking just like she always does in her soft blue scrubs, he lights up for the first time in days. She’s always been his favourite nurse at the clinic. On the outside, she’s all hustle and bustle and efficiency, but her workplace manner does nothing to hide the warmth and love she’s practically overflowing with.

He remembers how scared he felt the first time he went to the clinic, not knowing what to expect. She’d spotted him shivering in the waiting room like a baby bird with a broken wing and taken him by the arm. “Come along now, lad, you and me are going to have a chat.” A reassuring conversation, some maternal advice and a swift, entirely painless checkup later, he found himself on the streets of SoHo again, pockets filled with the free condoms she’d insisted he take with him.

He smiles at the memory. Ever since, he’s thought of Nurse Pomfrey as his HIV mum.

“Good to see you again, Remus,” she beams at him as they step into her office. The corners of her warm grey eyes crinkle. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just coming in for my regular checkup, I’m seeing Dr McGonagall next week.” He takes a seat on the bed.

“Excellent. Just roll up your sleeve for me please, there’s a good lad.” She’s already strapping a cuff around his upper arm to take his blood pressure. As she bends over him, he breathes in the warm, soapy smell of her skin.

“Awfully skinny aren’t you, don’t you feed yourself properly?” she tuts disapprovingly, which makes him laugh.

“You said the same thing six months ago, and since then I’ve taken care to eat an extra big breakfast every day,” he tries, sounding like a scolded schoolboy.

She jots down his blood pressure in his file. “Well, just have an extra helping at dinner as well and I’ll be perfectly happy,” she winks. “What did you have for dinner yesterday?”

As he looks around the room describing the roast James cooked the night before, he feels the briefest of pricks in the crook of his arm. He’s always amazed at how skillfully she manages to distract him with a question when she takes his blood.

“This James sounds like a lovely young man. Does he take care of you then? All done here, by the way” she seals the little vial of red, swabbing his skin with a ball of cotton and placing a plaster over it.

He doesn’t quite look at her as he pulls his sleeve back down. “Yeah, he does. Him and his girlfriend Lily both do. They’re great roommates.” He knows that wasn’t really the answer she was hoping to hear.

Something of a seventh sense in her makes her pause as she unfolds the cuff from his arm. A hand briefly comes to rest on his own lying on his knee.

“You’ll find someone too, lad. Don’t worry about it.” Her gentle tone suddenly makes it hard to breathe, and he tries his damnedest to force all thoughts of Sirius away. He looks down at his feet. “A lovely young man like yourself - I bet they’re just queuing up. All you need to do now is believe it yourself.”

He doesn’t know how to respond, but gives her a small smile as she pats his hand.

“Now just step onto the scales for me, will you?” she recognises his embarrassment, smoothly slipping back into nurse mode. “Then I’ll send you to the bathroom for a quick urine sample.”

Afterwards, he stands outside the clinic and turns his collar up against the cold of the morning. He buys a coffee to go from a little muffin shop around the corner, wrapping his hands around it to stay warm on the half-hour walk back to the bookshop.

As he winds his way through the city, past the crowds already arriving outside the British Museum, he’s lost in thoughts, turning Nurse Pomfrey’s words over in his mind. _All you need to do now is believe it yourself_. James once said something similar to him. After months of chasing after Lily and trying to catch her attention, he said what changed was him finally believing things were going to work “It’s like, as soon as I stopped trying to get her to like me, everything worked out.”

But as he throws away his empty coffee cup in a bin, Remus thinks he isn’t quite so sure things are that simple. Maybe for James they are, but Remus has never been as handsome or confident as his friend.

It’s only just past nine-thirty when he steps into the bookshop. Albus looks up at the sound of the bell. “Morning, my boy,” his face creases into a smile. He’s wearing flared corduroy trousers and a jaunty lime-green top hat that somehow goes remarkably well with his beard. “How was Poppy today?”

For a moment, Remus doesn’t understand, racking his brains. Then he remembers: _Welcome to 56 Dean Street_ , she’d said during his very first visit. _My name is Poppy Pomfrey._

His mouth drops. “You mean… Nurse Pomfrey?” 

“Oh, is that what you call her? Mm, I suppose you’re right. The uniform does make her look more like ‘Nurse Pomfrey’ than Poppy, doesn’t? I think it’s why she’s so good at her job. She would give her life for her patients, but when she goes into nurse mode, she’s all business. Rather admirable, really. She used to make fun of me sometimes, said I was always daydreaming and I would’ve made a terrible nurse,” he chuckles.

Remus just stands staring at Albus, who’s filling in order forms behind the till. Not for the first time, he wonders whether the bookshop’s owner can read minds. How else would he know where Remus had been that morning?

“No need to look so worried, my boy. You’re not the first one to catch the virus, and I’ll wager you won’t be the last.” There’s something pensive in his voice, something melancholic. 

Remus’ breath hitches as he realises what Albus is saying. So he’s also guessed _why_ Remus went to the clinic! Suddenly, he feels terribly exposed. “H...how… did you know?”

“That you went to Dean Street this morning, and have been doing so for several years now?”

He nods. 

Albus files the order forms away and rests his arms on the counter. His eyes are pools of water, impossibly bright. There is kindness in them. “Remus,” he starts. “A young gay man like you, popping out for twice-yearly doctor’s visits with the regularity of clockwork even though you seem perfectly healthy?” he smiles. “I figured it out pretty quickly, my boy. And Dean Street is one of the closest clinics. I go there myself sometimes after work, to meet up with Poppy for drinks.”

Remus raises his eyebrows in surprise, side-tracked.

“I do,” Albus nods quietly. “Her first job was over at Westminster Hospital, when the clinic hadn’t moved to Dean Street yet. It was simply known as Outpatient 6 in those days. Back in the mid-eighties, when things were at their worst. I met her at the hospital when my boyfriend became positive. She was the one who broke the news to us. She treated Gellert until the very end. Along with many of our friends.” His words are calm and measured, but it suddenly looks like all the light has gone out of his eyes. 

“Albus – ” he begins, but falters. What can he say? He’s never been the most eloquent, and any consolation he can think of would feel too much like the little round plaster still stuck on his arm.

“Albus,” he simply repeats. He thinks the man will know what he’s trying to say.

“It’s a long time ago now,” the owner shakes his head. “They were some of the worst days of my life, but I found a way to carry on. I’m grateful things are different for you young men in the community these days.”

“And we still have Nurse Pomfrey,” Remus smiles faintly.

“Yes,” Albus chuckles. “The woman should get her own statue in SoHo. Though I’m sure she’d say she was much too busy to pose for it!”

Just then, the bell tinkles and a young woman with bright pink hair walks in. She gives them a friendly nod before starting to peruse the shelves.

“Perhaps we should get back to work instead of reminiscing about my love life,” Albus straightens. 

Remus recognises it as a sign the topic is closed for now. But he feels oddly touched by the conversation they’ve just had. Without thinking, he reaches out and briefly touches the shop owner’s arm. “Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” Albus inclines his head. “After all, you tell me so much about yourself all the time.” As he looks up at Remus, his eyes are disconcertingly knowing. 

Remus frowns slightly, confused. Has he ever shared more about his own private life than the odd mention of James and Lily? He can’t remember anything else, he’s quite a private person. 

Another customer enters the shop, a stocky, mustachioed man in a raincoat. As Albus welcomes him, Remus snaps out of his reverie and moves to hang up his coat in the back room.

“Oh, and Remus?” Albus looks over his shoulder. “Your status doesn’t matter to me. It never has. So do promise you won’t worry about it.” He winks before turning to help the bright-haired girl from before, who’s placed a few graphic novels on the counter. “How can I help you, Miss?”

Staring at the shop owner’s back, Remus suddenly realises he doesn’t just have James and Lily. He has Albus too. 

The knowledge unfurls in his chest like the tip of a fern touched by the sun.

***

That evening, Remus is reading The Velvet Rage on the sofa in the living room when James enters the room. “Hiya mate, what are you reading?”

Remus gives his best friend a sceptical look. “You really want to know?”

James laughs, raking a hand through his hair and making it stick up on all sides. “Nah, not really, I suppose. I’ll leave the literary discussions to Lils.”

Remus smiles for what feels like the first time in a long while. James has always had a carefree manner that makes life look so much easier than what it feels like in Remus’ head most days. He puts his book down and crosses his legs. “What are your plans for the evening then?”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to ask.” James perches on the arm of the sofa, casually leaning against the wall. “Lils is out with Marlene for dinner and drinks and said she wouldn’t be back until after nine-ish. I was thinking of perhaps going for a swim, want to join?”

Remus sighs and looks down at his book on the coffee table. He knows his physical health is important. Dr McGonagall is always telling him that, and so is James. And he knows they’re right: his immune system is compromised, even with the medication. So the better he takes care of his body, the better his fighting chances will be if he ever gets any other serious illness.

If it were up to James, they’d be working out in the gym or going for a run every day. But James has limitless energy and loves being outside, rain or shine, whereas Remus prefers to just curl up in an armchair with a book. He casts a glance out the window onto their little back garden. The path to the shed at the far end of the garden is littered with leaves, and it seems to be drizzling.

“I don’t know…” he chews his lip.

“Aww come on,” James says encouragingly. “It’s been a while since we’ve gone swimming.”

Remus looks at his best friend and feels a stab of guilt. It’s true. James has asked him several times over the past two weeks, ever since he told them not to bring up Sirius again. He turned him down every time, just not feeling up to going out.

James fiddles with the frayed edge of the blanket that’s pooled in the corner of the sofa. “I know you’ve been feeling...under the weather. And I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he rushes on, “but maybe a swim would just get your mind off things?” The look on his face is so hopeful, so concerned, Remus’ mind is made up even before the words come out of his mouth.

“Alright then,” he grudgingly agrees. “Let me just go grab my swimming trunks.”

James lights up like a Christmas tree, hopping up from his seat with all the energy that Remus has often thought would make him an excellent (if slightly annoying) personal trainer, should he ever decide to quit teaching PE. He won’t, because he loves teaching those teenagers, but still. Remus can easily picture it: James using his impossible-to-resist smile to coax couch potatoes into doing sit-ups. He chuckles as he walks over to the stairs.

“See?” James interprets his chuckle as enthusiasm for their swim session. “I knew it would make you feel better!”

Grateful his friend can’t see his pained eye-roll as he heads up the stairs, Remus doesn’t have the heart to correct him. Although he supposes James is right. He usually does feel better when they go swimming – only the effect is most noticeable afterwards, not when he’s faced with the choice of reading another chapter versus jumping into freezing water in his Speedos.

When they pull the front door shut behind them, gym bags slung over their shoulders, Remus almost regrets his decision. The drizzle has turned into a miserable rain, and the light is fading fast. But James’ obvious joy at having Remus join him stops him from heading straight back inside.

James chatters about his day. “I’ve got my Year 10s doing high jump now. You know, they always complain they’re tired of running and football, and I think some of the previous PE teachers they’ve had have been a bit lazy. There are so many other sports they could try out!” 

Remus nods, side-stepping a dog turd on the pavement as they cross the road. 

“And it’s great for their upper-body and back muscles, I think it will really help with their posture. They’re always standing slouched over, looking at their phones, or carrying those ridiculously heavy backpacks. I’m secretly hoping high jumping might help prevent strains and injuries down the line.”

Despite the rain that’s soaking through his trainers in a decidedly unpleasant way, Remus can’t help but smile at his friend. He admires James’ enthusiasm. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about him when Lily had introduced them to each other. This evening, he’s particularly grateful for James’ wordiness, because he doesn’t feel like talking about his own problems. He knows James is filling the silence on purpose.

When they arrive at Leytonstone Leisure Centre a few minutes later, they’re greeted by a blast of welcome warmth as they step into the lobby. James has got an all-in membership, but they have to queue so Remus can purchase a single-activity pass. Lily once teased she’d buy him an annual membership for his birthday so he wouldn’t be able to ignore Dr McGonagall’s advice anymore, but at his pleading she’d finally capitulated and given him more books instead. Remus still shudders at the thought. Giving someone exercise as a gift feels like a particularly perverse punishment to him.

The changing rooms are busy tonight, plenty of office workers squeezing in some exercise after work. They carry on their conversation over the din of slamming locker doors, showers and wet feet slapping against the tile floors. 

“And after high jump, I’ve planned a badminton tournament for the kids. Doesn’t always need to be football or basketball, I thought.” When James tugs off his t-shirt, Remus can’t help but feel slightly awkward as he compares his own body to the toned, muscular shape of his friend’s. That’s what you get for working in a bookshop and preferring long walks through the streets of the city over sweaty work-out sessions in the gym, he frowns at himself as he steps into his Speedos.

But James gives him an encouraging smile, swimming goggles already in hand, and waits for Remus to lock up his bag. “You’ve got this, Remoose,” he says in his best PE teacher voice. “Remember how you told me last time we should go swimming more often?” 

Remus nods. It had been just a week before he’d first seen Sirius – which now feels like a lifetime ago – when they’d polished off a particularly large stack of takeaway curries during their Bake Off night, and Lily had firmly told both of them to “get their asses to the pool tomorrow, or I’ll soon be living with two sad old men with tikka masala bellies.” The fact that she herself planned to spend the same night downing a bottle of wine with two of her mates from work was not up for discussion. He’d had a great time, though, and vowed to join James more often.

When they enter the main swimming hall, the usual cacophony of shrill sounds – the pool guard’s whistle, breaststroke swimmers splashing past, shouts and echoes, the thud of the diving board – is oddly soothing. It muffles his thoughts, scrubbing out all images of Sirius with the harshness of chlorine and bleach.

“I’m going to do a few timed laps,” James claps a hand on his shoulder before diving off the deep end with the natural grace of an Olympian swimmer.

Remus takes longer getting into the water, shivering by the side of the pool as he lowers himself down the rickety metal stairs. He squeezes his eyes shut against the rush of cold when he launches himself into the water, but the freeze that numbs his whole body is somehow exactly what he needs. 

He takes a few quick strokes before turning and switching to backstroke. It’s always been his favourite, ever since his dad taught him how to swim in Llyn Gwynant when they were on holiday in Snowdonia one summer. 

He likes the way the rest of the world disappears when he’s on his back in the water, the other swimmers and sounds and the chaos of the pool all fading, with the pressure of the water sealing off his hearing. Almost like an embrace, a place where he can be alone and forget.

He does lap after lap, eyes fixed on the white tiles of the ceiling overhead. Their geometrical lines calm him, straightening out his thoughts. He propels himself through the water. The movement feels good. As if it can heal the razor-sharp papercut in his chest he’s been trying to ignore. 

So he swims. 

After what feels like half an hour or so, he spots movement on the stands alongside the length of the 25-metre pool. James is sitting on one of the hard seats in the front row, grinning down at him with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Remus waves back, motions that he’ll finish just one more lap, then pointing to the changing rooms. James nods and salutes him before disappearing down to the changing rooms himself.

When Remus joins him there two minutes later, shivering, he steps underneath the hot shower spray next to his friend. 

“That was brilliant, don’t you think? I wish we had a pool at school, it’d be so good for the kids. I love a good swim!” James beams up at him, squirting some shampoo in the palm of his hand. He offers the bottle to Remus.

“Yeah,” he nods, realising to his surprise that he agrees. “You were right, as always,” he concedes with a smile and dips his head back to wash his hair.

James just elbows him companionably, lathering up his body with soap. Neither him nor Lily have ever been the I-told-you-so type.

When they’ve showered and changed, the faint smell of the pool still clinging to their damp hair, James slings an arm over his shoulder as they exit the Leisure Centre. Night has fallen by now, the passing cars piercing the darkness with their headlights. 

“Since Lils is having dinner in town and I don’t feel much like cooking, what do you say about grabbing some fish & chips for dinner?” James’ eyes twinkle as he looks sideways at Remus, knowing full well that if there’s one thing Remus can never resist, it’s a crispy portion of cod from their favourite chip shop on Leytonstone High Road.

“Oh God, YES!” Remus gasps. “You sure know how to make a man happy, don’t you?” 

James just winks as they walk past the lit-up fronts of pubs, restaurants and their local Tesco’s, carrying their bags with them. “Always happy to serve.” He swerves past two bicycles chained to a street lamp.

When they walk up to Dobby’s Fish & Chip Bar, the windows are steamed up in a haze of golden warmth, a beacon in the night. The place is nothing more than a hole in the wall, really – white-tiled floors, no decoration, a counter and a menu with just a handful of options that never change. But even today, on a Tuesday night, there’s a steady queue of customers waiting to order.

The owner’s a kind, shrunken old man from Brighton who insists on everyone calling him Dobby. Remus doesn’t even know whether it’s short for his first or last name. Donald? Doyle? Dobson? He seems to be forever wearing the same slightly greasy rags and has tufts of white hair sticking up from behind his ears. And he’s always inordinately pleased to see James and Remus when they stop by.

“Ah! Long time no sees, you two,” he beams up at them, wiping his hands on his apron. “What will it be for youse tonight?” He’s practically bouncing on his feet yet still barely reaches up to the counter.

“Evening there, Dobby,” James smiles down at him. “Let’s see… I’ll have a large haddock, please.”

“And cod for me. Small, please,” Remus adds. Because James works out so often, he also eats inordinate amounts of food, always shovelling down larger helpings than him and Lily together. His metabolism seems to burn it all off, however, lucky sod.

“Anything to drinks, Sirs?” Dobby looks over his shoulder, his knobbly hands working the fryer. The oil sizzles and crackles when he lowers in the battered fish.

“Two cokes?” James turns to Remus. He nods. 

Dobby’s shaking the gloriously golden chips in their fryer basket, oil dripping off of them. The smell makes Remus’ mouth water – he’s always surprised by how hungry he is after a swim.

When they pay, Dobby pushes some of the coins back over the counter. “Drinks on me, Sirs,” he squeaks, “Youse looking like you be needing a good dinner.” Their protests fall on deaf ears, Dobby already resolutely turning to the next customer with a look of happy victory on his face. Accepting defeat, they douse their fish in vinegar and sprinkle salt over their chips, then head out with their newspaper-wrapped dinners to eat at one of the picnic tables lined up outside.

When they sit down, the night air bites their skin. Remus shoves one hand into his coat pocket to keep it warm. The wood of the table in front of them is greasy and stained with tartare sauce. Half-smushed chips litter the pavement at their feet.

“Cheers, mate” James raises his coke, tipping it against Remus’. 

The first fork of fish is sheer heaven. Remus almost groans with delight. “God, why don’t we have this every day?” he pops several chips into his mouth.

James chews and swallows. “How about because that nurse would have your balls for not taking care of your body and eating crap?”

Remus sighs wistfully. “But Pomfrey’s never been to Dobby’s. If she had, I’m sure she’d prescribe at least one fish & chips dinner a week to all her patients.”

“You wish,” James chuckles. 

They eat on in companionable silence, their fingers stained with grease. The chips are hot, the fish fried to perfection. Neither of them feel the need to speak. It’s always been this way with James for Remus. Comfortable. Easy. The type of uncomplicated friendship he’d so desperately longed for at the orphanage, but never quite found until he went to uni.

When they’re finished, they lick their fingers clean. James balls up their papers and gets up to throw them in the bin by the shop’s open door. Remus watches him – one of his best friends in the world. He takes a sip of coke to wash down their dinner while James sits down again.

It’s just past eight. Lily won’t be back yet, and neither is in a real hurry to go back home. Leaning with their backs against the wall, they look at the cars driving past, the people hurrying along with their coats wrapped tightly around them.

Remus takes a deep breath. “Sirius has a boyfriend,” he says quietly.

James turns his head to look at him, but waits for him to continue. Remus keeps his eyes straight ahead.

“I found out when Lily and I went through his Facebook pictures. He’s living with the guy.” His throat feels tight, and the neon lights of the storefronts on the other side of the street become a bit blurry.

“Remoose,” James says. He reaches out a hand and clasps it over Remus’ forearm. Remus is grateful James doesn’t try to say anything more. That he knows this is already hard enough for him. He swallows and blinks.

“I really liked him. I thought – ” he falters, “I thought that when he asked me out for lunch maybe it wasn’t just lunch. You know? That maybe…”

James squeezes his arm. “I know.”

A gaggle of teenage boys walk past, skateboards tucked under their arms. They’re loud and clearly trying to look cool. They remind Remus of himself when he was younger.

He coughs and scrapes his throat, changing the subject. “Also, turns out Albus knew I was positive.”

“Really?” James leans in. “You know, I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s been working at a gay bookshop forever, he was bound to maybe have developed some sixth sense for it. What did he say?”

“He was really nice about it. Told me not to worry and that it doesn’t matter to him either way.”

James nods, clearly pleased. “Told you, mate. It’s a different world these days. I don’t think the stigma’s anything like it used to be.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Remus picks at the lip of his coke can with his thumb, pushing it up and down with a twangy sound. “I think maybe Albus is dating his neighbour. The one who always comes round with leftovers.”

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “The old cat guy? Wow… Well, good for them, I suppose? That they’ve found each other.”

Remus exhales. A heavy, sinking feeling washes over him. “Yeah,” he nods, looking down at his knees. He doesn’t want to think about his own love life. He doesn’t. But he does.

“Remus.” Something in James’ voice makes him look up. The golden light from the chip shop is reflected in his friend’s eyes, their green refracted into a million jewels. “I know you felt a connection with him. And I’m terribly sorry he’s already taken, apparently. But you know there’s someone out there for you as well, right?”

Remus watches him, wants to believe him.

“You’re a fantastic guy. The best. Heck, if I weren’t with Lily, or straight for that matter, I’d be falling over myself to try and get a date with you.”

Remus huffs out a weak laugh. “Yeah, you’d be so lucky.”

“I’d be the luckiest man in the world, I’m sure,” James gives him a kind smile. “So try to let him go. You don’t need any drama in your life.” He takes a thoughtful sip of his coke. “Hey, you know my colleague Gideon?”

“The one who teaches chemistry?” 

“Yeah, that one. I was talking to him the other day. He’s roughly our age and mentioned his twin brother’s gay and newly single, apparently. Fabian, I think his name was.”

“Oh?” Remus knows where this is going.

“Gideon said he’s a really nice chap. Maybe I can ask him if his brother would like to meet you?” James’ face is all hope and eagerness.

“Yeah,” Remus tries to sound enthusiastic. “Sure, why not.” Part of him knows James is only trying to help him. And it’s a good idea in theory. Maybe he should meet the man. Can’t be any worse than meeting people through Grindr, or pining after someone he can never have. 

But just now, he doesn’t feel ready to take his friend up on the offer yet. He gets up from the picnic table. “Anyways, shall we get home?”

James gets up as well, not pushing the issue.

As they walk through the evening streets of Leyton, Remus tries to pretend he feels better. If only the dull ache inside would dissipate. He shifts his bag on his shoulder and steels himself. 

He’s going to get over Sirius. He has to.


	5. An unexpected relief

The first few raindrops splatter onto the pavement as Remus walks along Charing Cross Road. Albus gave him the afternoon off for his appointment with Dr McGonagall, and he’s looking forward to browsing the latest arrivals at Foyles before he’s due at the clinic. He ducks into the store just as the rain picks up in earnest.

With a happy sigh, he looks around. He’s always loved the sense of quiet and comfort that seems to be a permanent feature of bookshops. When he was in primary school, he once had to write an assignment on his ideal future home. Remus smiles to himself as he remembers his teacher’s raised eyebrows when she saw he’d written about wanting to live in a bookshop. “My bed will be right next to the books about knights and dragons,” his childish handwriting had proclaimed.

Today, he doesn’t read as many tales of medieval adventure anymore. But there are still moments when he thinks he wouldn’t mind falling asleep and waking up every day among the whispering words.

He spends a contented half hour exploring the titles, picking up new releases of his favourite authors and reading the back jackets of debutant novels he’s never heard of. There’s something relaxing about the whole endeavour. Not to mention the fact that it’s a good way to scope out the competition.

In the end, he grabs the final installment of Hilary Mantel’s trilogy on Thomas Cromwell and heads to the till. He knows he’s got more than enough books piled up on his bedside table (and on the shelves above his bed, and on top of his wardrobe, and stuffed in his drawers, to be honest), but he can’t help himself. He loves buying books and what with the unsettling past weeks he’s had, he feels like he needs their comfort.

Outside, the rain has not let up. It has transformed the streets of the city into a shadow of the sky, which seems darker than it should be on a November’s afternoon at three. The headlights of cabs driving past are reflected in the puddles on the pavement. 

Trying and failing to protect himself from the rain by pulling his coat half over his head, Remus turns into Old Compton Street, wending his way through huddled crowds of umbrellas and feeling his socks get soaked.

When he enters the clinic, he is a wet dog. He runs a hand through his hair, curls plastered against his forehead.

It’s his turn almost straight away. He’s shown to Dr McGonagall’s office one floor up. The older woman is one of the Chelsea and Westminster NHS Foundation Trust’s leading HIV specialists and has been his doctor for the past four years. When Remus first met her, he was daunted by her severe manner, but he realised within minutes that she was excellent at her job. And over time, he detected a gentle side to her he hadn’t spotted at first – she always takes care to ask not just about his physical wellbeing, but about how he’s doing in life as well, while he knows she could just leave that to one of the counsellors at the clinic.

As he knocks on her office door, she looks up from behind her desk. Her black hair, which is streaked with grey, is pulled back into its usual bun. The emerald turtleneck she wears underneath her lab coat brings out the colour of her eyes. 

“Ah, Mr Lupin, do take a seat,” her familiar Scottish accent greets him. She folds her spectacles and places them in front of her. Raindrops race in random patterns on the window behind her.

“I have your results here. You remain undetectable, viral load below 20 copies per millilitre,” she briskly summarises his file in her hand. “Your CD4 T-cell count has also remained steady at 600 per cubic millimetre.” 

He uncrosses his legs in relief and leans back in his chair. When he was first diagnosed, his T-cell count was down to 350. He was so freaked out at the time he kept reading up on immunity markers and white blood cells and CD4 counts on his laptop late at night and then had trouble falling asleep. Eventually, Lily suggested he “stop acting like a bloody ninety-year-old who could drop dead any minute and just trust your doctor to take care of you!” He has to admit, he’s felt much better ever since taking her advice and letting Dr McGonagall handle his treatment.

“The lab also tested your blood sugar levels and found no sign of any increase in blood glucose,” Dr McGonagall continues briskly. “Kidneys and liver also working exactly as they should, no cause for worry there either. In fact, I’ll be asking the nurses to only take a urine sample once a year from now on, as your body is still reacting well to the Genvoya.” She offers him a rare smile as she closes his file.

He returns her smile, secretly relieved there’ll be less fiddling with plastic cups from now on.

“Are there any other concerns you would like to address? Physical or psychological?”

They chat for a while, but he tells her he’s happy with his medication and that everything else in life is going as well as can be expected. He doesn’t want to tell her about his dating life, not sure the austere doctor could be of much help with Grindr-related problems.

“Well, if that is all, then I suggest we see each other again in six months, Mr Lupin.” As she gets up to see him out, she nods at the plastic bag he’s holding. “You’ve been to Foyles?”

He looks down, having forgotten all about his purchases. “Oh! Yes, I love reading. Got the latest Hilary Mantel.“

“I enjoyed Bring Up The Bodies immensely, you’ll have to tell me what you thought of this one once you’ve finished it.”

He gives her a surprised smile, not having taken her for the sort to read historical fiction. But if there’s anything he’s learned from their appointments, it’s not to underestimate Dr McGonagall. 

“I haven’t yet had the time to read it myself. Maybe I’ll have managed to create a semblance of work-life balance next time we see each other,” she gives him an amused but weary smile. As she holds the door open, he notices there is no wedding ring on her finger.

“I’ll see you in six months, Doctor” he wishes her goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, Mr Lupin,” she shakes his hand. Her own hand is surprisingly small and fragile in his.

As he walks down the stairs and turns the corner, he stumbles to a halt.

Standing by the reception desk is Sirius.

And the man from Sirius’ profile picture on Facebook.

His stomach drops into his still-wet sneakers with a sinking feeling, and he suddenly desperately wants to be both right where he is and anywhere but here. That’s when Sirius looks up. His eyes (Remus can’t help but gasp at their quicksilver fluidity) widen instantaneously and his mouth forms a perfect circle of surprise. He’s wearing a David Bowie T-shirt and the same scuffed leather biker’s jacket he wore on their lunch date. Which Remus reminds himself with a wince wasn’t a date after all.

“Remus!” Sirius is the first to say anything. His voice sounds surprisingly relieved.

At that, the man next to Sirius looks up. His movements are languid, self-assured. He’s skinnier than Remus had imagined from the picture he saw on Facebook. Something familiar about the man’s desperate good looks gives him pause, his eyes flicking between the pair. 

“Mr Black?” the receptionist addresses the man. “Dr McGonagall will see you in five minutes. You can take a seat if you like.”

But the three of them remain standing in the corridor, looking at each other. Remus stares at his shoes, feeling hot and uncomfortable and embarrassingly sad.

“Remus?” Sirius’ voice is soft, softer than he’s ever heard it. He looks back up at the sound. Gentle blue eyes meet his. 

_Don’t say it_ , he thinks, trying to ignore the traitorous flutter in his heart, _let’s just pretend we never met each other_.

But Sirius continues. “This is Regulus,” he lays a hand on the shoulder of the man next to him, who’s observing their interaction with interest. Sirius’ eyes never let go of Remus, and he emphasises his next words. “Regulus is my brother.”

Remus’ mouth falls open. Brothers. They’re brothers! 

Suddenly he doesn’t understand how he never noticed the obvious similarity between the two. As he takes in the similar ink-dark sheen of their hair, the proud noses and the way their lips curve in exactly the same arc, a broad grin spreads over his face. He has the sudden urge to perform a mad tap dance right there in the corridor.

“Your brother,” he breathes, smiling like a fool.

“My brother,” Sirius nods. The warmth behind his eyes makes Remus wonder whether Sirius suspected why he looked so crestfallen just seconds ago.

Sirius’ brother steps forward and extends his hand. “Remus – if I’m not mistaken, you’re the man my brother has been talking my ear off about?”

Sirius instantly turns bright red and coughs, which causes Regulus to smirk mischievously. The change in expression makes him look friendlier than before. His eyes are a darker blue than his brother’s, Remus now notices. Midnight rather than twilight, a rich sapphire velvet. 

“Nice to meet you,” he continues. “I’m Regulus, this twat’s brother.” The drawl in which he pronounces the word ‘twat’ is uncannily similar to Sirius’ own accent.

“Oi!” Sirius mumbles, elbowing his brother in the side, looking anywhere but at Remus.

But Remus doesn’t mind. He feels like his chest is going to explode with relief and sudden joy.

“Talking your ear off?” he has the wit to respond, as he shakes Regulus’ hand.

“Like you wouldn’t believe it,” Regulus arches one perfect eyebrow, ignoring his brother. 

“Alright, you can shut up now!” Sirius shoves him, which only makes Regulus laugh. “We’re here for a new clinical trial Regulus is participating in, Dr McGonagall is setting it up,” Sirius quickly changes the subject.

That’s when Remus remembers where they are. He looks at Regulus with surprise. “Wait, you mean you’re – “

“HIV positive? That’s me. Diagnosed just a few months ago,” Regulus nods. There’s no trace of shame in the way he casually announces his diagnosis. “I’m afraid my CD4 count was so low, McGonagall asked if I wanted to combine my medication with a new treatment her team’s developing. I didn’t respond well to the first medication she prescribed, so she’s hoping this might help.”

Remus has a thousand questions and doesn’t know where to start - he’s rarely met anyone else willing to talk so openly about his HIV.

“What kind of a trial?”

“Monthly injections at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. I’ve never had a problem with needles, and if it means I don’t have to remember to take my pills every morning, I’m willing to give anything a try.”

Remus nods enthusiastically, not noticing Sirius’ slight frown at Regulus’ mention of needles. So he’s not the only one who keeps forgetting to take his meds! He likes the man in front of him more and more as they talk.

“Mr Black? Dr McGonagall is ready for you now,” the receptionist interrupts them. Startled, Remus catches Sirius’ eye. 

Sirius leans back casually against the wall but holds Remus’ gaze. “I guess we have to go up now…” he says, sounding like he wants to do anything but. Remus blushes when he feels the man’s eyes on his body.

“We do,” Regulus nods and sighs dramatically. “You know how the doc gets when we’re late! Chop chop.” He pushes his brother towards the staircase. Sirius casts a longing glance over his shoulder at Remus. 

Before following Sirius up the stairs, however, Regulus pauses to whisper in Remus’ ear. “Please drop by the pharmacy again soon. He’s been eating his lunch in the park ever since you took him there, hoping to see you again, even though he hates being cold and I told him no one’s dumb enough to eat lunch outside in November. Just do us all a favour and stop him from catching pneumonia.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’m afraid if you don’t intervene, you might find him resorting to more desperate measures he hasn’t worked up the courage for so far. Like pretending to browse through the Historical Fiction section at your bookshop.” He gives Remus a pointed wink and the briefest pat on his arm before heading up the stairs after his brother.

Remus is left standing in the corridor of the clinic, his heart a sea of emotion.

With a sudden grin, he fishes his phone from his pocket and writes in the group chat he has with James and Lily.

“The best thing just happened!” 

Five seconds later, Lily texts back. “OMG What what what?? Tell us!” There’s a little monkey with his hands over his eyes at the end of her message.

“I’ll tell you all about it tonight,” he texts back. Then he sends a lab-coat emotion.

“OMG REALLY????? YESSSSSSS” comes her reply, followed by a billion engagement-ring emoticons.

The receptionist gives him a strange look as he snorts loudly. 

“I told you! :)” James chips in a moment later. “Everything will be alright, Remoose.”

And as he steps out onto Dean Street, where the sun has unexpectedly broken through the clouds, he knows his best friend is right.


	6. Ale and dark alleys

Remus shifts from one leg to another outside the pharmacy the next Friday evening, surreptitiously checking his reflection in the window of a parked car. After their encounter at the clinic, he gathered his courage and dropped by the pharmacy the day after, which is how he finds himself standing on the pavement, waiting for Sirius to finish work. They’re going on a date together. An actual date! He bites his lip. He’s never been shy, per se, but he still feels nervous, worried he’ll make a complete tit of himself.

James and Lily had made a massive fuss over him that morning, Lily even insisted on spraying some of her fancy hair products onto his curls. In the end, he’d been forced to fend her off and flee out the front door to stop them from wishing him luck one more time.

“Admiring our pretty face, are we?”

He spins around so fast he almost stumbles and comes face to face with a grinning Sirius, who’s zipping up his jacket against the cold. He’s wearing stonewashed dark grey jeans that show off the shape of his legs.

Remus blushes fiercely. “I wasn’t - “ he stammers. 

“Relax,” Sirius smirks, stepping closer. His eyes sparkle in the glow of the streetlights. “In case you didn’t notice, that was a compliment.”

Before Remus can register what Sirius has said, the other man has pulled him close in the briefest of embraces. He smells of expensive cologne and motor oil and something warm and comfortable. Before Remus knows it, Sirius has pulled away again. The hint of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth seems to indicate he’s aware of the effect his proximity has on Remus.

Remus coughs to hide his reaction. “So erm, where would you like to go?”

“There’s a nice bar in one of the alleys around Covent Garden,” Sirius proposes, fishing an elastic band from his jeans pocket and tying his hair up in a ponytail. He looks ridiculously cool. “Up for a walk?”

Remus instantly agrees. He’s always loved the city streets at night, the dark bringing out London’s history in shadows and corners and streetlamps, like an etching illustrating a Dickens novel.

As they set off, they quickly fall into step. Sirius’ boots echo on the pavement.

“So about Regulus,” Remus starts, before biting his tongue. Bollocks! Why on earth is he bringing up the man’s brother on their first official date! 

But Sirius doesn’t seem to mind the slightest. “Mm, he’s been living with me since our parents kicked him out.”

Shocked, Remus looks at him. “Wait, what? They kicked him out??” 

Sirius shrugs as they turn a corner and head past the University of London. “Let’s just say our darling parents weren’t too pleased when they found out about his diagnosis.”

Remus feels a sick cold creep over his body. “Just because he’s positive?”

“Nah, it started well before that bombshell dropped. It’s…” he hesitates, and glances at Remus before continuing. “My family is… rather wealthy. The Blacks are old money, and my parents always expected us to make certain life choices.” There’s contained disgust in his voice as he pronounces the last two words. “I think they gave me up as a lost cause the day I bought my first moped, or maybe the day they found a package of cigarettes hidden under my mattress.” He snorts, shaking his head. 

“Regulus was never as rebellious,” he continues. “He’s always been a good boy, our mother’s favourite. But all that money… It fucked him up. It’s not healthy to be sent to boarding school at thirteen, gain access to a trust fund at eighteen, and basically get all the freedom in the world as long as you pretend to be _a proper Black_.”

Remus winces at the bitterness and venom in Sirius’ words. “What happened?” he asks quietly.

“My brother fell in with the wrong friends. He was supposed to go to university, but he kept seeing his buddies from Eton. Rich, entitled, spoilt little pricks. They were bored, so they started partying. And drinking. And doing drugs.” There’s anger in Sirius’ strides, and Remus has to hurry to catch up with him, even though his legs are longer than Sirius’.

“Some life advice: don’t do heroin.” Sirius kicks an empty can out of the way as he speaks, a sadness hidden between his words. “My brother found out the hard way. I barely recognised him when he showed up on my doorstep this summer. He was like a shadow of his former self. He’d somehow managed to quit the drugs, our darling father having paid for rehab, but his HIV diagnosis was the final straw. They just kicked him out.”

“And he’s been living with you ever since?” Remus asks. He wants to put a hand on Sirius’ arm, but frustration still radiates off Sirius and he’s not sure whether the gesture would be appreciated.

“Well, not many people are keen to give a job to an ex-addict who’s never had to work for a living, are they? He has no money and nowhere else to go.” Sirius sighs, looking right and left before crossing Tottenham Court Road.

“Still, that’s very nice of you,” Remus adds.

Sirius pauses for a moment before answering. “He’s my brother,” is all he says. 

Remus notes the self-evidence behind his words, and the unspoken loyalty, and he gently places his hand on Sirius’ sleeve after all. Sirius looks up in surprise and catches Remus’ eye. His breath fogs in the cold November evening. He shakes his head as if to dispel the demons of what sounds like a very dysfunctional family, and gives Remus a grin that makes his stomach swoop.

“Anyway, here I am just blabbering on about my ghastly family, when really I want to know more about you!”

Remus glances up at the Seven Dials obelisk, admiring the strings of Christmas lights already criss-crossing the little square. He’s not quite sure what to do with the disarming look of keen interest in Sirius’ eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your family,” Sirius suggests, then tugs at his elbow to make him follow into a dark alley. Suddenly, the humdrum sounds of office workers going for a pint after work, of cars and buses and taxis fades away. The silence is so sudden, it’s almost as if all sound’s been spelled away by a charm.

The alley stretching out in front of them is just a foot or two wide, barely enough for the two of them to walk side by side. Remus feels his way forward ahead of Sirius, trailing his hands along the rough brick walls. The place smells of damp and decay and detritus from the depths of the city’s sewage system. He can barely see a thing.

“Erm, what is this place?” he asks, grateful for the momentary distraction from Sirius’ question. He’s not too eager to talk about the fact that his parents are long dead and he doesn’t have any siblings. Before Sirius can answer, however, Remus nearly trips over some rubbish bins in the narrow dark. Sirius’ hand shoots out to prevent him from falling, as the metal bins roll over with a loud clanking sound.

Sirius laughs quietly into his ear. “You’ll see. We’re nearly there, just around the corner.” He’s right behind Remus, and his warm breath against Remus’ neck causes a frisson of excitement to travel through his body. He wouldn’t mind if Sirius pressed himself even closer.

Together, they round the last corner. The alley widens. A few feet ahead, a halo of light from an old-fashioned lamp illuminates a nondescript, faded black door.

Coming to a halt in front of it, Remus looks up with curiosity at the sign creaking overhead. It’s perfectly round and bears an elegant carving of two small fish, lapping at each other’s tails.

“Welcome to the Glass Goldfish,” Sirius grins at him in the dark with a pirate’s golden smile. He opens the door with a flourish.

Remus’ mouth drops in amazement as they step into the bar. The place is tiny, barely any bigger than the room he rented when he first moved to London, but it’s glinting and gleaming and glittering with the maddest array of trinkets he’s ever seen. There are Ostrich feathers, grandfather clocks, velvet cushions and a bowl of tangerines, Charlie Chaplin figures, vintage menus, a top hat dangling dangerously off a chandelier that sparkles with an orange glow. Every single stretch of wall is covered by frames in all shapes and sizes, portraying a fabulous collection of bucolic landscapes and mermaids and 1920s starlets. Bathing in dim, pleasantly warm light, the place is perfect for a first date. 

“What in the world…” he mumbles, wondering whether he’s stepped into some kind of magical alternative universe. It’s nothing like the pubs he tends to hang out in with James and Lily. Sirius chuckles at his reaction. 

Remus’ eyes fall on a rickety pedestal to their left, which sports a giant glass orb that reminds him of a crystal ball. A pair of goldfish swim around in it languidly, and he realises they’re probably the bar’s namesake.

Just then, a throaty voice calls out. “Well I’ll be damned, if it isn’t Sirius Black! Thought I’d never see you again, you scoundrel!” Behind the bar, a woman with a giant head of breezy curls and spectacles like magnifying glasses cocks one eyebrow with her hands on her hips.

Sirius grins and spreads his arms wide. “Sybil dear! I’d never just disappear on you, you know you’re the love of my life!” He gives Remus a quick wink, pulling him along. They wind their way through the bar, squeezing among small tables, dark-green settees and mismatched chairs. Remus can’t help but wonder if someone raided all the vintage stalls in Camden Lock to decorate the place.

When they reach the bar, the woman narrows her eyes at Sirius. For a tense moment, their standoff makes Remus nervous, but then both burst into laughter and Sirius gives the woman a graceful bow. Remus is completely nonplussed.

“Sybil Trelawney,” the woman extends a hand to him with a generous smile. Her spidery fingers glitter with rings. “Pleased to meet you, young man. Welcome to my den.” She sweeps one arm out in a grand gesture, bangles clinking at her wrist.

“It’s eh, it’s… quite something,” Remus nods politely, taking in the room. The handful of other patrons in the bar ignore them, conversing quietly in corners.

The woman barks out a laugh. “Hah! This one, I like ‘im. Better than the other tossers you like to pull, by the sound of them,” she looks down at Sirius over the rim of her glasses like a clairvoyant bug.

Remus frowns at Sirius, who has the grace to look sheepish.

“Don’t worry about it, son,” the woman waves her hand at Remus, light reflecting off her rings. Her voice drops conspiratorially. “I’ve never actually seen him bring someone here, so something tells me you must be special.”

He blushes, a sudden warmth spreading through his chest.

“Anyway,” Sirius scrapes his throat, “Perhaps we could get something to drink, Sybil?” Remus catches the way Sirius is fidgeting with a little flamingo figurine on the bar and raises one eyebrow in amusement. His own nerves dissipate a little.

Ale in hand, they scan the room for a place to sit. Just by the door, there’s a free table – a round, rickety affair with a crocheted tablecloth and an old-fashioned desk lamp that casts a seductive, orangey glow.

They sit down, the chairs creaking as they do so. Remus looks up when he feels Sirius’ knee settle into his thigh, the warmth of his body radiating through his jeans. Sirius’ eyes are the Atlantic ocean at midnight, and Remus can’t help his gaze from dropping to the smile playing around his lips. God, the man’s a tease! 

His cock twitches as he remembers his wank fantasies a few days earlier, and he quickly brings his glass to his mouth to hide his reaction.

Rather than toying any further with him, however, Sirius leans back with one arm draped over the chair next to him and simply continues their conversation. “You were going to tell me about your family?” His whole body is turned to Remus, all openness and attention.

Remus fiddles with his drinks coaster, making tiny indentations in it with his finger nail. “Not much to say, really,” he mumbles. “Only child, no siblings. Grew up in the north of Wales. Da died of lung cancer when I was just seven years old, mum passed away when I was twelve. Car accident. I was sent to an orphanage. End of story.”

Sirius is quiet, and Remus doesn’t dare meet his eyes. But when he finally looks up, he sees nothing like the discomfort or pity he usually encounters when people hear his story. Instead, Sirius gives him a steady look that suddenly makes him feel relieved to have talked about his background for perhaps the first time ever.

Sirius gently presses his knee against his leg. “I’m sorry,” he says. Nothing more, nothing less. Somehow, it’s exactly what Remus needed to hear. “Do you live alone these days?”

Remus eyes widen in surprise. Usually, people ask at least one ‘innocent’ question about the orphanage, unable to hide their desire to uncover some Oliver Twist childhood tale of woe. 

“I don’t, actually,” his shoulders relax. “I live in east London with my roommates. James and Lily, they’re my best mates. We’ve been sharing a house in Leyton ever since we graduated from uni the same summer.”

“What are they like?” Sirius leans forward on his elbows.

Remus chuckles. “Well, James is a great bloke, albeit with a do-gooder-knight streak that can be supremely annoying. He teaches PE at the local secondary school, goes for a run about a million times a week and likes to complain I don’t go swimming with him often enough.”

Sirius huffs out a laugh. It’s a rich sound and Remus is oddly pleased he’s the reason for it.

“He’s also an excellent cook, courtesy of Mrs Potter, which is why Lily claims she still puts up with him. That’s his girlfriend,” he explains. “Lils is absolutely bonkers, has way too much energy but also the biggest heart. She’s told me several times she’d viciously murder anyone who ever dared hurt me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sirius winks, dropping his voice.

The gesture goes straight to Remus’ cock. He swallows. He wants to come up with a witty reply, but the lean lines of Sirius’ body and the way his hand rests right next to his on their table make his throat go dry.

“She, erm, she works at a local charity that runs a food bank and a hostel, doing counselling work,” he tries to refocus on their conversation. “Don’t know how she keeps her notes of those sessions organised, though - I’ve never met anyone as messy as Lily.” 

“Sounds a lot like Regulus,” Sirius rolls his eyes, somehow managing to still look the picture of elegance as he does.

Remus wants to ask him more about his brother, but takes another swig of his pint instead. He braves himself for what he’s about to say. “Both Lily and James have been very supportive ever since I first found out I have HIV.” He raises his chin in defiance. He may not be as posh as Sirius, or as confident or good looking, but he has nothing to feel ashamed about. 

Still, his heart hammers in his chest as he waits for Sirius’ reaction, trying to stamp down the familiar feeling of vulnerability.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” is all Sirius replies. He takes a casual sip of his ale and sweeps back a strand of raven-silk hair that’s slipped out of his ponytail.

Remus flips his coaster over on the table, frowning and confused. He’s not used to people sensing when he doesn’t want them to pry. But somehow, Sirius seems to instinctively know what he wants and needs. It’s unsettling.

“You’re not going to ask how I got the virus?” he bites out, more defiant than he intended to sound.

Sirius is quiet for a moment, a pensive look on his face as he traces patterns in the condensation on his glass. Then he cocks his head. “Why would I? Do you think it matters?”

Again, Remus is thrown off track. “Well, no. I mean… Of course I’ve thought about it, but – “ he hesitates, bites his lip before deciding to be honest. “I’ve decided I don’t need to know who gave it to me. What would I do? Go beat them up? Bang on their front door at 1 am?”

Sirius holds him suspended in his gaze. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes are dark in the low light of the bar, unreadable pools of deep water.

Remus fidgets, shifting in his chair. He feels like he’s mid-fall. He’s terrified of hitting the ground. “I just… I don’t think it matters,” he says with quiet conviction. “Not anymore. It wouldn’t change a thing.“

Sirius just listens to him, scraping his thumb along his bottom lip as he does so. Remus can see him considering how to phrase his answer. “Whenever I’ve felt like life’s been beyond my control, that my past’s been shaped by everyone else except for me, I’ve taken back control by focusing on the future. Maybe it’s that way for you too?”

Remus’ lungs inhale with the relief of how intuitively Sirius seems to understand. “Exactly,” he nods, and smiles at Sirius.

“I’ve had a very similar chat or two about the topic with Regulus,” Sirius smiles back. “But it’s not just his own diagnosis that makes me empathise with your reaction. It’s also our family.” His hand clenches and unclenches on the tabletop in between them. “I grew up in a family fuelled by blame and anger and hatred. It’s all my relatives ever talk about during their interminable dinner parties and soirees. Which business associates have wronged them. Why they hate Labour. How despicable they think immigrants are. That’s my past.” He shakes his head. “I might not be able to change that past, but I can keep the bitterness away from my future. That’s one of the reasons I don’t want anything to do with them anymore. Except for Andie maybe.”

“You mean Andro Meda?” Remus asks before he can stop himself.

Sirius blinks in confusion. “Andromeda? How do you know about Andromeda?” Then an amused smile spreads over his face. “Wait – have you been _stalking me_ on social media?”

Remus chokes on his ale, sputtering and trying very, very hard not to blush, to no avail. Sirius is now openly grinning, which doesn’t help. “No!” he wheezes, still gasping for breath.

Sirius thumps him on the back a few times. When Remus stops gasping and coughing, he doesn’t remove his hand. “Andromeda’s my cousin,” he smiles. “The other black sheep in the family, no pun intended. Her parents nearly had a heart attack when she announced she was marrying a working-class man and wanted to become a painter all on the same day. The family’s even gone so far as to remove her from the family tree,” he rolls his eyes again. “She’s terrific, though. I adored her back when I was a teenager, she was the one who introduced me to Bowie and Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd.”

“Do you still see each other?”

“Oh, all the time. She was ecstatic when she heard Reg had moved in with me in Camden. Said I’d finally convinced him to join the Light Side, hah!”

“You live in Camden? Sweet!” Remus can’t help but feel slightly jealous. Him and James and Lily would never be able to rent a place that central.

“Yeah, well,” Sirius looks a bit uncomfortable. “When my uncle Alphard passed away, it turned out he’d left me a sizeable share of his savings. He never married. I strongly suspect it was because he was gay. So let’s just say I’ve been lucky financially…” he looks away.

Remus snorts. “Don’t apologise for it. God knows I’d give one of my balls to suddenly inherit that amount of dosh.”

Sirius eyes glitter as he leans closer. “Would you now?” His voice is low and suggestive.

Perhaps it’s the ale that’s started to go to his head, but this time, Remus doesn’t look away. “Perhaps,” he retorts. Their eyes are locked and the temperature in the bar hitches up a notch. When Sirius tongue flicks out of his mouth and slowly traces his bottom lip, Remus shifts in his chair, letting his legs fall open wider. 

“Anything else you’d do to get your hands on my fortune?” Sirius’ voice is laden with suggestion, and there’s an eager look in his eyes.

“How ‘bout you go buy us both another ale and I might tell you later?” Remus cocks an eyebrow.

Sirius chuckles. “At your service, Sir.” He scrapes back his chair and moves to the counter, where Sybil’s uncorking a bottle of wine for another patron. As Sirius leans against the bar, waiting, Remus takes a good long look at his body. He’s slender and slightly feminine, with narrow hips, but his legs are well-toned. Remus bites his lip as his eyes rake over Sirius’ arse. He can’t help but wonder what Sirius enjoys in bed, and surreptitiously adjusts himself underneath the table as he reacts to the thought. 

“There you go, Your Majesty,” Sirius returns, setting two glasses on their table. When he slides back into his seat, he ends up sitting even closer than before. Their thighs touch, the undercurrent clear. The low light of the wall sconces accentuates the sharp angles of Sirius’ face. Remus has a sudden urge to trace the play of shadows with his fingers.

Instead, he takes a sip of the cold, amber liquid. He’s always managed to hold his drink well. Sirius, on the other hand, he’s not so sure about: there’s a slight blush on his cheeks, and he swayed a bit on his way back to the table. Remus grins. “So, what does a posh gentleman like yourself do for leisure in Camden?”

Sirius’ eyes flash with amusement. “Apart from sipping tea in the afternoons and ordering the servants about, you mean?”

Remus’ rolls his eyes. “Of course you’d have servants.”

“Well, I’ve done my very best to turn Regulus into one, but the git refuses to take any orders from me,” Sirius sighs with a put-upon air. “In fact, the place’s been a total mess ever since he moved in. Half-empty coffee cups, smelly socks and lad magazines everywhere! Half of the time, I decamp to the garage instead.”

“Right, your motorbike,” Remus nods.

“Says the man who claimed he hasn’t been stalking me.” Sirius teasingly squeezes Remus’ knee underneath the table. When he pulls his hand back, he lets his fingers trail along Remus’ thigh. His dark blue eyes never let go of Remus’, and it’s all Remus can do not to groan with want on the spot.

“I’m not confessing to anything,” Remus manages. “What, er, what motorbike do you have?” Some of the lads at the orphanage used to be into motorbikes, and he knows it’s the one question that could always distract them from any topic.

“A Triton,” Sirius instantly replies. When Remus gives him a blank look, he delves into an enthusiastic explanation.

“It’s a custom bike, a tribute to the bikes of the sixties. I took the frame of a 1954 Norton Featherbed and put a modern 1200 CC Triumph engine in. I wanted the best of both worlds: a classic frame and a fast engine.” His eyes gleam. “One of Andie’s friends designed custom parts for me, including the converter plates and brake caliper brackets.”

There’s a look of unadulterated pride on Sirius’ face as he talks that Remus finds absolutely irresistible, even though he has no idea what bike to actually picture.

“I modified the handlebars with Manx clip-ons I bought online from this old mechanic in Scotland, to go with the Manx swept-back pipes and the rear sets I already had. I love the look of it. It does up to 135 miles an hour.”

When Sirius’ catches his befuddled look, he laughs. “You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”

Remus grins and shakes his head.

“It’s basically a black, unfinished-looking bike with a vintage look you wouldn’t be able to just buy from a dealer somewhere. And it’s fast. Real fast.”

Remus frowns. “Sounds a bit dangerous…”

“Not if you know what you’re doing,” Sirius tosses his hair back with a carelessness Remus finds both boyishly naive and maddeningly attractive. “I guess you don’t ride?”

“It’s not for me, ‘m afraid. The guys at the orphanage always wanted me to try, but I’m more of a bookworm.”

“I can always take you for a ride...” Sirius suggests with a crooked smile.

If he hadn’t had a few pints already, Remus would probably have told him that was the world’s worst pick-up line, but as it is, he rather feels he wouldn’t mind being taken for a ride by Sirius. “Would you?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Any time,” Sirius licks his lips again.

Remus’ swallows and smiles. The better he gets to know Sirius, the more drawn he feels to the man. It’s not just his ridiculously good looks or his combination of elegance and edginess. It’s his confidence and ease. The way he’s a surprisingly good listener, despite his posh background – or perhaps because of it, Remus thinks, as Sirius’ background has turned out to be anything but as carefree as he initially thought it would be. With Sirius’ eyes on him, Remus suddenly finds it easy to talk about things he normally only shares with James and Lily. And he’s fascinated by the way the man slips from brooding darkness one minute, when he’s talking about his family or what happened to Regulus, into a light-hearted impulsivity that’s impossible to resist. 

As they order another round and talk on, the hours slip away and the remaining patrons pay their bill one after the other, unnoticed by the two of them. Eventually, their conversation is interrupted by Sybil.

“Right, you two lovebirds,” she suddenly stands by their table, amused eyes enlarged behind her glasses. “Closing up for the night now, I’m tossing you out.”

Remus glances at his watch and is surprised to find it’s almost eleven.

When they pull on their coats and settle their bill, he notices both of them are a little unsteady on their feet. Remus feels something flutter in his chest as he watches Sirius fiddle with the zip of his jacket. The leather looks fucking good on him.

With a wave over their shoulder to Sybil, they exit the Glass Goldfish and find themselves in the alley again. It’s quiet, and the November chill rises like a ghoul from the cobblestones. Their breath fogs in the air between them.

“So…” Sirius says. He’s got his hands stuffed in his pockets and suddenly looks uncharacteristically shy, shoulders hunched up from the cold. “What should we do now? I think Reg was having some friends over tonight, so I don’t need to be anywhere yet...”

And maybe it’s the alcohol in his veins or the intoxicating scent of Sirius standing so close, but suddenly Remus knows exactly what he wants. In one swift movement, he launches forward and pushes Sirius’ against the wall of the alley, his hands pressed flat against the rough bricks on either side of Sirius’ shoulders. Sirius exhales in surprise, his pupils widening in the dark, a glitter of moonlight on snow. Remus presses their bodies together.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes, barely able to contain himself as he feels Sirius’ hands grab his hips.

Sirius’ cheeks are flushed and there’s no mistaking his interest. Wordlessly, he nods.

With that, Remus leans in and crushes his lips against Sirius’, whose eyes flutter closed. 

The first taste of Sirius’ mouth makes Remus almost dizzy with want, and he hears Sirius gasp against him. He flicks his tongue out, caressing the contours of Sirius’ soft lips, tasting him – masculine and warm and laced with the vague sweetness of ale. He teases, licks, begs for entrance. Sirius pulls back a fraction to nip at his bottom lip, a playful response that makes Remus groan. Hungrily, he presses against Sirius’ mouth, wanting more. 

When Sirius parts his lips with a sigh, Remus slides his tongue in, exploring with a heady desire. Sirius’ arms are wrapped tight around him, the lengths of their bodies glued together. He feels the ridge of Sirius’ erection harden against his leg, and moans at the sensation. They deepen their kiss. Tongues moving and dancing and seeking, it’s as if Remus’ whole body sings. He lifts his hands from the brick wall to tangle in Sirius’ hair, soft like a whisper between his fingers.

Sirius shifts his feet on the cobblestones, widening his legs minutely in invitation. Needing no further encouragement, Remus presses one knee up between Sirius’ jeans-clad legs. His own hardness presses into Sirius’ thigh, the friction sending a shot of lust through him. 

Sirius throws his head back with abandon and jerks his hips forward, gasping loudly in the quiet of the alley. “Oh fuck, Remus.”

It’s the sound of his name, the feel of Sirius melting against him in the circle of his arms. “You like that?” Remus asks.

“Yeah,” Sirius says breathlessly. “Don’t stop.”

Remus claims his mouth again in a desperate kiss, thrusting his hips up. They rut against each other, seeking pleasure, seeking friction, anything. It’s almost too much for Remus to handle – if they keep at it, he’s going to come in his pants like a randy teenager.

He pulls back with a gasp, and a shot of energy rushes through him. It fills him with a feral sort of drunken joy unlike anything he’s ever experienced. Without thinking, he throws his head back in the dark and howls.

“What are you doing?!” Sirius laughs, and slaps his arse. “Sybil’s going to think we’ve released a pack of wolves outside her bar!”

Remus just grins. “I don’t know. But it feels good.”

“You’re crazy,” Sirius admonishes him, but he still sounds half-breathless with lust. They’re standing wrapped around each other, the heat of their bodies staving off the cold. In the distance, the sound of a car alarm blares, but the alley around them is quiet and dark.

“You know what else would feel good?” Remus looks at Sirius, unable to conceal the hope in his voice.

“What?” Sirius breathes, tilting his hips teasingly to press his crotch against Remus’ again. 

Remus huffs out an aroused laugh. “Alright, that too. But I was actually thinking of you maybe coming home with me…? Since we can’t go to yours?” He bites his lip, praying Sirius will want to. He couldn’t bear to go home alone now.

A beautiful smile spreads across Sirius’ face. “I thought you’d never ask.” At that, he slips his hand into Remus’. “Lead the way.”

With a grin, Remus pulls him along to retrace their tracks out the narrow alley.


	7. Pancakes for breakfast

They stumble up the stairs, grinning and shushing loudly to each other in a tipsy attempt not to wake James and Lily. “Where’s your bedroom?” Sirius whispers hoarsely.

Remus points to the door next to the bathroom, almost tripping over one of Lily’s handbags she’s left on the landing.

They finally make it inside, Remus kicking the door shut with his foot just a little too loudly. They look at each other. “Oops,” Sirius whispers, and they burst out laughing. The curtains aren’t drawn, and the light of the streetlamp outside falls in soft-orange stripes over his bed. Sirius holds Remus’ eyes as he sits down and scoots back on the bed. He lets his legs drop open in invitation, one lock of hair falling over his eyes like a perfect brushstroke.

Remus breathes out. “Fuck you look good.” He sinks to the floor by the side of the bed, gliding his hands from Sirius’ knees to the top of his thighs. He feels the muscles quiver with want underneath the fabric.

Sirius looks down at Remus with half-parted lips. “What would you like to do?” he breathes.

“I want to suck you off,” Remus replies without having to think about it. “I want to taste you and have you come in my mouth.”

Sirius bites back a groan. “I think that can be arranged.” He presses his palm down against his crotch, where his erection is already straining against his fly.

Suddenly, Remus halts and leans back on his heels. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, not knowing where to start. He hasn’t really had this conversation before. Usually when he takes someone home, he knows straight away it’ll be a one time thing. His stomach clenches when he realises he hopes this will be more than that.

It doesn’t feel right to continue before talking about the elephant in the room.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius sits up, concern on his face. “Do you not want to do this?”

“I do,” Remus assures him, “very much so!” He gives Sirius a nervous smile. “It’s just – “ He breaks off.

“Just tell me.” Sirius puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Erm, well, you know I have HIV, right?” His voice sounds small in the intimate setting.

“Oh!” Sirius reacts. “Of course. Yeah, I’ve known that for a while,” he smiles. “One month’s supply of Genvoya, number 54B7.”

Remus’ eyes widen in surprise when he realises Sirius just quoted his order number from the pharmacy. “You still remember my order number?”

“Well, I can’t claim I remember that of every single customer by heart, but there is the odd one now and then I can’t get out of my head…” He presses his lips together to hide his smile.

The small but tangible proof of the fact that Sirius felt equally interested in him from the very first time they met makes Remus relax a bit. He takes a deep breath and continues. “Alright. I just wanted to say that since my diagnosis four years ago, I’ve taken Genvoya non-stop. I’ve reacted well to the medication, and the virus has been undetectable in my blood for more than three years now. Dr McGonagall confirmed it again when I was at the clinic. So erm…” he falters, not sure whether he should say anything more.

Sirius is still holding his gaze with a kind look in his eyes. Remus forges on.

“So I just wanted to say that the risk of you catching it from me is zero. I… I understand if you want to take a minute to think about it, but… I just wanted to let you know I’m telling the truth and I wouldn’t do anything to put you a risk. I would still like us to use a condom, for example.”

A second later, he realises how presumptuous that sounds. “Uh, that is, if we’re going to do anything that requires condoms,” he stutters, grateful Sirius won’t be able to see his blush in the dark.

“Well…” Sirius smirks. “I was kind of hoping we would. But I believe someone mentioned a blowjob first?”

Remus laughs, but turns serious again. “I just want to make sure. I understand if you’re not – “

“Remus,” Sirius interrupts him. “Maybe you’re forgetting that you have a pharmacist sitting on your bed. A gay pharmacist with a brother who’s HIV positive. I know what you’re trying to say. I keep up with all the latest research, so I know that when the virus is undetectable, it’s completely untransmittable. But I’m very, very grateful you’re being so open and honest with me. I know that’s not easy.”

Remus swallows.

“But I want to do this,” Sirius reassures him. “I want to have sex with you tonight, and I trust you. And yes, we can use condoms.” He winks at Remus.

Remus lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and suddenly feels incredibly free. Freer than he has felt with a partner in a long, long time. “Right, so who was interested in having his cock sucked?” he grins.

“All yours, gorgeous.” Sirius leans back on his hands and gives Remus a sultry look.

Remus leans forward, kneeling between Sirius’ knees. He runs his hands up over Sirius’ legs again, slower now, caressing the inside of his thighs. When he reaches the V of Sirius’ jeans, he flicks his thumbs out and slowly traces the bulge of the cock he finds there. Sirius hisses at the touch.

Still teasing him with one thumb, Remus uses his other hand to slowly draw down the zip of Sirius’ trousers, Sirius leaning back slightly to help him. When Remus tugs open the fabric, he catches a whiff of musk and feels his own cock harden between his legs at the scent. Fuck, he loves the smell of cock.

Leaning over, he nuzzles his nose against Sirius’ erection, the cotton of his pants already slightly damp. He presses open-mouthed kisses against it, impatient to feel the delicious hardness into his mouth.

Above him, Sirius is breathing hard. Remus feels tentative fingers reach out and run through his hair, and he smiles to himself.

Snaking his hands up, he hooks his fingers underneath the elastic of Sirius’ pants, and looks up in question. Sirius gives him a tight nod, still holding on to Remus’ hair and lifting his hips. Peeling and tugging, Remus finally manages to strip Sirius’ jeans and pants down to his ankles.

Sirius’ cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. Remus licks his lips at the sight of it. It’s long and elegant and thicker than he’d imagined, soft dark hair curling at its base. With a single finger, he strokes from Sirius’ balls up his stiff length, following the vein on its underside. Sirius moans softly.

Remus allows his fingers to explore, caressing and sliding and teasing with just the tips of them, cupping Sirius’ balls and stroking up and down his cock. The head is already wet with arousal, and sensitive enough that a swipe of his thumb makes Sirius’ whole body twitch.

“Oh bloody hell,” Sirius closes his eyes. “If you don’t take me into your mouth right now, I might have to call off our whole deal.”

Remus huffs out a laugh. “So impatient,” he tuts. But he happily obliges. With a long, slow lick of his tongue up the entire length, he slides his lips over the tip of Sirius’ cock. Without waiting, he moves down and takes all of it into his mouth, all the way down to the base.

“Oh god, oh shit,” Sirius groans, his hands tightening in Remus’ hair.

At that, Remus begins sucking in earnest. He bobs his head up and down, tongue swirling and teasing, tasting the salty tang of Sirius’ arousal. He lavishes attention on the head, circling around the rim with the barest tip of his tongue, smoothing it over the slit and wetting it with his mouth. The taste of precum makes him hum in appreciation, and he shifts his own knees wider to give himself more space, his cock painfully constricted by his own trousers.

Up and down he sucks, his fingers toying with and cupping Sirius’ balls, rolling them in his hands. He takes Sirius as deep as he can, enjoying the slick slide of cock against his tongue and palate. He loves giving head – and he’s been told he’s good at it. His lack of a gag reflex may have something to do with that. The sounds Sirius makes seem to say he agrees.

“Remus,” he groans. Remus looks up at him with hungry eyes and groans around Sirius’ cock at the sight of Sirius himself with his legs spread wide open, wanton and eager, his head thrown back, a tumble of dark hair falling over his shoulders. A sliver of moonlight cuts across the bed, illuminating his pale throat. He’s a vision of lust.

Remus can’t help himself and uses one hand to unbutton his own trousers. He desperately presses his palm against his erection. If they continue, he could come just from sucking Sirius off. The taste in his mouth alone would be enough.

Suddenly, however, Sirius’ hand is on his shoulder, pushing him off. “Too many clothes,” Sirius manages to say, “need them off.”

Remus stumbles upright, already unbuttoning his shirt as he does so. On the bed in front of him, Sirius is pulling his T-shirt over his head. A slender but fit torso is revealed, and Remus drools at the well-toned muscles of his arms. He tears his own shirt off while his gaze follows the trail of dark hair down from Sirius’ chest to his cock, which glistens with precum and his own saliva. When he emerges again, Sirius has pushed off his trousers completely, kicking them into a corner. Remus almost stumbles in his haste to join him on the bed, his heart beating faster at the sight of Sirius’ body, all lines and litheness and desire, like a young stallion in flight.

As soon as he’s shucked off his own clothes, his prick mercifully freed from its constraints, he clambers onto the bed, shivering with want. Sirius stretches out on the duvet, the moon and the streetlight playing on his skin like a work of art. He raises himself on one elbow and stretches out an arm. “Come,” he says.

And with that, their bodies touch, skin to skin. It is an explosion of sensation, warm and welcoming, bare arms and legs and hands intertwining and touching and caressing, discovering each other and learning the naked places that draw forth gasps and moans.

When Sirius’ cool hand wraps around Remus’ cock, he squeezes his eyes shut at the wave of pleasure that hits him. It’s as if Sirius instinctively knows what he likes, drawing the foreskin back teasingly and feathering his thumb over his glans before pumping back down in a swift movement. The rhythm is intoxicating, and for a moment all Remus can do is lose himself in the ecstasy of desire.

Afraid he’ll come if Sirius keeps up his magic, Remus rolls on top of him, Sirius’ body trapped beneath his weight. He shivers at the hands gliding over his back to cup his arse cheeks. Sirius’ eyes are luminous as he looks up at Remus, his dark locks cascading over the pillow like a river.

When Remus moves his hips against Sirius, he feels precum well up from his tip as their cocks rub and slide against each other deliciously. He has to physically stop himself from rutting like an animal, from not responding wildly and with abandon as Sirius angles his own hips to meet him.

“What do you like?” he whispers, the tips of their noses almost touching.

“I want you to fuck me,” Sirius breathes without a hint of doubt in his voice. His certainty makes Remus giddy with lust. “Fuck,” he groans. “You sure?”

“I’ve been wanking about it non-stop ever since we had that lunch in the park,” Sirius admits as he licks his lips.

At that confession, Remus surges forwards and claims Sirius’ mouth in another possessive kiss. His feelings are all over the place, the thought of Sirius getting himself off in his bedroom fantasising about him enough to make him come right there and then. He moves against Sirius, seeking pleasure from the friction between their bodies. He’s never been with anyone else who’s gotten him this hard.

“Can I take you on your back?” he asks, leaning back on his heels. “I want to see your face when I’m inside of you.”

Sirius makes a small sound in his throat. He lets his legs fall open invitingly, presenting himself for Remus. His cock is dark and enticing, swollen with need now, and Remus lies down in the space between Sirius’ thighs. He cups Sirius’ balls, taking one, then the other, into his mouth.

Sirius’ thighs are a bundle of tense desire, his breath coming in gasps as Remus plays and sucks and licks his scrotum. There’s a rustle as Sirius fumbles around for a pillow, stuffing it under his backside.

Remus takes in the sight in front of him, hardly believing his luck. The scent of desire makes his mouth water. Scooting further down, he tentatively draws a long, slick stripe with his tongue over Sirius’ entrance. He’s awarded with an almost animalistic groan. “Oh bloody hell, do that again”. Sirius’ hand flutters down to his head, and Remus needs no encouragement. The scent of Sirius’ musk goes straight to his own prick. He teases and flicks over Sirius’ rim with his tongue, driving him higher and higher and making him keen with want.

Remus shifts. He shamelessly rubs his own cock against the sheets, wondering how long he’ll last as Sirius moans helplessly underneath him, his hands clutching the duvet cover.

Scrabbling for the tube of lube he keeps by his pillow, Remus squirts a generous dollop onto his fingers and slicks Sirius’ entrance. “This okay?” he breathes, looking up at Sirius. In the darkness, Sirius’ eyes are black glittering orbs, and his mouth is half-open in a silent moan. “Put your fingers inside of me,” he gasps.

Remus pants, loving it when his partners vocalise their desire. Carefully, he slips in one finger, slowly pressing it up to the knuckle. The tight heat sucks him in, overwhelming and intense. He can’t imagine what it will be like to have his cock sheathed inside Sirius’ body. “Alright?” he asks, looking up at Sirius from between his legs.

Sirius’ answers by pressing back against him, urging him on. “More.” The word is a just a breath, a desperate plea.

Remus moves, his finger stroking and exploring, fucking Sirius. He loves it. He adds another squirt of lube. Lifting his head slightly, he opens his mouth and swallows Sirius’ straining cock. Sirius’ gasps at the sudden double stimulation. “Remus,” his voice breaks.

Supporting himself on his forearm, Remus concentrates on pleasuring Sirius, taking his cock deep inside his mouth. When it hits the back of his throat, he adds another finger into the heat between Sirius’ thighs.

“Oh god, oh fucking shit, fucking God,” Sirius sobs, “I’m not going to last, Remus – “

But Remus wants to do this properly, wants to make sure Sirius’ is ready. And, truth be told, sucking Sirius off like this is incredibly erotic: he loves the heavy feel of Sirius’ cock against the inside of his cheeks, the salty taste of spunk on his tongue, and his fingers – oh fuck his fingers! twisting in and out of Sirius’, spearing him and opening him. When he crooks them towards himself, Sirius’ gasp loudly.

“Hnnnn right there,” he wails, “right there, oh fuck do that again.”

Remus does, hitting the spot that makes Sirius almost arch off the bed.

Then Sirius nudges him with his thighs, twisting away from Remus’ hand. “Now,” he pants almost breathlessly. “Do it now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Pulling open his bedside drawer, he fumbles for a condom and tears open the package with his teeth. Sirius takes his own cock in hand, stroking it as he watches him roll the condom securely over his cock. Remus licks his lips and can’t help but lean forward to capture Sirius’ mouth in a kiss that burns with the heat of what they’re about to do.

Grabbing the lube again, he coats his fingers and slicks the condom around his cock. On his knees, he looks down at Sirius spread out like a debauched god, and he realises if he would have waited another minute to put the condom on, he would’ve come all over that pale, beautiful body, coating it with his seed.

Sirius’ hooks his arms around his legs and pulls them up, opening himself completely for Remus. It’s such an intimate, submissive gesture Remus moans in response. No longer able to wait, he positions himself between Sirius’ legs and nudges against his opening with the head of his cock.

“Please,” Sirius whispers, and the word is the most dizzying siren call. Slowly, Remus presses in. The sensation of being inside Sirius is overwhelming, his heat squeezing him like a fist. Once he’s fully sheathed, it’s all he can do not to let go completely and fuck Sirius so hard he sees stars.

“Alright?” he forces out.

“Better than ever,” Sirius responds, only slightly breathless. He clenches and unclenches around Remus, shifting to accompany him.

In response, Remus draws back his hips the slightest fraction before pushing forward again.

“Oh Jesus,” Sirius closes his eyes. His mouth is half open, curved into an arc of pleasure. “Do that again.”

Remus obeys, thrusting into Sirius slightly harder this time, earning a groan in response.

At that, he draws out almost completely, waiting one delicious second before slamming his thick cock back into Sirius.

“Fuck yes,” Sirius gasps.

And Remus lets go. His body takes over, finding the rhythm it has been craving: he pounds into Sirius, thrusting his cock into that sweet arse, balls slapping against Sirius’ tightness. It is madness, a feral wildness, and he grinds his teeth as he claims Sirius, claims him for himself and slams into him, the sounds of their coupling – breathing panting gasping groaning – filling the room.

Sirius’ hands slip off his legs, coming to clasp Remus forearms as he labours over Sirius. The look in Sirius’ eyes is unfocused and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He angles his hips in time to meet each of Remus’ thrusts, submitting completely to the almost brutal pounding he’s subjected to.

“Fucking hell Remus,” Sirius pants, “I love your cock.”

“Yeah?” he asks, “you love taking it up the ass?” Heated ecstasy courses through him at every thrust of his hips, every second he’s fucking Sirius.

“I do,” Sirius bites his lip, just inches from his face. “I want you to fill me up, use me like your whore.”

Impossibly, the words make Remus even harder. He kisses Sirius, bending him almost double. Sirius’ lips part instantly, allowing Remus to take his whole body. Their tongues lap and slick, tasting and licking each other in the wetness of the moment.

Remus pulls away to gasp for air and pushes himself up on his forearms, looking down to where their bodies are joined. “Oh Jesus,” he pants, the sight of his cock entering Sirius again and again almost making him come undone. “Wait,” he says.

When he pulls out for the briefest of seconds, Sirius emits a desperate noise of loss. But Remus pulls him up and around in one swift movement, tugging Sirius against his chest. He marvels at how gracefully Sirius moves even in bed. They slot together perfectly, Sirius leaning his head back onto Remus’ shoulder, sitting in his lap with his knees spread wide. His neck is exposed like a sensual call in the dark.

Remus can’t help but move his mouth over the pale flesh, nipping at it before coming down to suck a mark onto it, just above the collarbone. Sirius moans.

“Need to feel you,” he demands.

Remus presses his cock between the arse cheeks resting against his thighs. “Like that?” he asks, dragging his erection back and forth to tease Sirius.

“I mean it, Lupin,” Sirius grits his teeth, “Fuck me.”

“Surely you have better manners than that?” Remus presses his swollen glans against Sirius’ hole but refuses him what he wants. Still holding Sirius against his chest, his hand slips down to grab Sirius’ own cock, which is leaking with precum now. The slightest touch makes Sirius tremble against him. Remus moves over Sirius’ prick, fisting him in a way he knows will drive Sirius’ mad.

“Oh god, oh fucking fucking god – _please_ ,” Sirius begs, “fucking shove that cock back into me!”

Remus breathes in the scent of Sirius’ hair, loving the way Sirius is a writhing mass of need and want in his lap, whoring himself out for him.

But he’s just as eager as Sirius, so he sinks back into the slick heat in one swift movement. Sirius is open and wet for him, his arse welcoming him.

They move together, Sirius raising and falling back down on his cock, craning his head back to try and find Remus’ mouth for a messy kiss. Remus lets his hands roam all over Sirius’ beautiful body for a second, encircling his waist and feeling the smooth planes of his chest, the firmness of his upper arms.

Sirius takes his own cock in hand. “I’m so close,” he pants, Remus thrusting in and out of him.

Remus can only grunt in return, his forehead creased in concentration as he pumps breathlessly into Sirius. Their bodies are dripping with sweat. The muscles of his thighs, his loins, his stomach contract, the prickling of a thousand nerve points surging as he wants to fucking come, wants to feel Sirius’ body tight around him as he squirts his seed –

Sirius’ hand flies over his cock, his chest heaving and the wet squelch of his precum ridiculously erotic. “Remus,” he pants.

Remus slides one hand up over Sirius’ chest, feels a hardened nipple underneath his fingers and teases it, flicks at it. “Come for me,” he whispers into Sirius’ ear, claiming the heat of Sirius’ arse. “I know you want to, you’re gagging for me to fill you up.”

“Yes,” Sirius bites out with closed eyes, jutting up and down on Remus’ cock. “I fucking love that big hard cock of you inside me, want you to come in my arse - oh!”

Remus’ slaps Sirius’ hand away from his cock and folds his own over it. The moment he tugs on Sirius’ erection, sliding his foreskin down and smearing his finger all through the sticky mess, Sirius chokes out a sound and comes with a surge that makes him almost slump forwards. Thick strands of hot white spill over Remus’ hands, landing on Sirius’ thighs and the duvet in front of them.

The sight of Sirius coming undone like that in his lap, waves of climax rocking through him, makes Remus almost black out. He roughly shoves his cock into Sirius’ arse, biting his teeth and then feels his own orgasm ripping through him, his mouth stretched into a soundless cry as he pumps into Sirius’ warmth.

He tightens his arms around Sirius, holding him against his body as he feels his cock twitching a few last times. His chest heaves with exertion.

Sirius’ head drops back against his shoulder. His lips find the side of Remus’ neck in a soft, exhausted graze of lips.

For a few moments, neither of them has the energy to say anything.

Then Remus feels Sirius shake softly against his chest, and he realises it’s laughter.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius laughs. “That was the most insane shag.”

Remus smiles into Sirius’ hair, which smells of his cologne and sex and something warmly fragrant he caught a whiff of when Sirius leant into him at the bar earlier that night. “It was alright.”

Sirius shifts, twisting off Remus’ lap to sit in front of him on the bed. “Alright?! What are you talking about?” he frowns. “I don’t know what kind of sex you’ve been having, but I’d say this was way more than – “ But then Sirius catches the grin he’s trying to suppress, and realisation dawns on his face. “You bastard!” he laughs, and grabs a pillow to hit him with.

“Oi!” Remus laughs and covers his head with his arms, “Give a man some time to recover before he needs to defend himself!”

Sirius relents but gives him a haughty look. “Only if you admit that was more than just alright.”

Remus notes Sirius slips back into a posher accent when he seems to be narked off, and the realisation makes him smile. Somehow, he likes everything about this man he’s got in his bed tonight, who’s so full of contradictions.

“It was more than alright,” he reassures. “In fact, it may have been the best shag I’ve ever had.” He looks down as soon as the words have left his mouth, feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable. Maybe he’s said too much?

But he feels something shift on the mattress, and Sirius crawls closer. Their knees touch, and he dares to look up. When he does, Sirius’ eyes – the blue of constellations, the blue of beginnings in the hours between midnight and dawn – almost take his breath away.

Sirius raises his hand and cups his face in an infinitely tender gesture. He just smiles warmly. “Me too,” he whispers almost inaudibly. And Remus doesn’t know whether he imagines it or not, but it feels like those two words contain pages of possibility.

Then Sirius looks down between Remus’ thighs and smirks. “You going to leave that there?”

Remus follows his gaze and sees the used condom hanging limply from his softening cock. He playfully slaps Sirius on his shoulder, but tugs off the condom and ties it up, scrambling up to drop it into the bin. When he turns around, Sirius is sitting on the edge of the bed rather awkwardly – all moonlight skin and soft hands.

“Shall I, er… shall I get going then?” he doesn’t quite look at Remus when he asks the question, suddenly very interested in finding his socks in the darkness instead.

Remus sits down next to him, the mattress dipping. He places a gentle hand on Sirius’ thigh, pausing him as he makes to pull on his socks. “Stay,” he says quietly. “I’d love for you to stay.”

The half insecure, half hopeful look Sirius gives him makes Remus’ heart melt. “If you insist,” Sirius tries, a question mark still tacked onto the end of his sentence.

But Remus just rolls his eyes. “Come to bed, idiot. Right side’s mine, though.” He lifts the duvet, and Sirius wordlessly joins him. While he notices Sirius tries to hide it in the dark, he doesn’t miss the content smile on his face.

Rolling over, he shifts closer to Sirius. The tips of their noses almost touch. Sirius sneaks a hand up to rest on Remus’ hip. Their breathing is soft, quiet.

“Thank you for tonight,” Remus whispers.

Sirius’ eyes are pools of unspoken emotion. He doesn’t reply, but leans in and presses a feather of a kiss against Remus’ lips.

And like that, feet entwined underneath the duvet, they fall asleep.

***

The first thing Remus sees when he wakes up, are dust motes dancing in front of him in the early-morning sunshine. The curtains are still open. He blinks against the sudden brightness, but feels surprisingly warm and comfortable. That’s when he remembers he’s not alone in bed – Sirius slept over!

Inchingly careful, he shifts his head to look at the man still fast asleep next to him. Sirius’ hair spills over the pillow, contrasting with the snow of his skin like the wings of a magpie in flight. He looks even more beautiful than last night. Remus holds his breath as he watches the rise and fall of his shoulder, the impossible length of his eyelashes soft against his cheeks.

“Stop looking at me,” Sirius mumbles without opening his eyes.

Remus blushes. “You’re awake?”

“No, I’m still asleep, dreaming a guy I took on a date last night is hovering over me in bed.” He opens his eyes and gives Remus a sleepy smile that makes something shift inside his chest. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Remus smiles back. Usually, he dreads the morning after – the awkwardness and forced conversation – but something about the way Sirius looks up at him makes him feel completely at ease. Almost as if Sirius belongs here in his bed. “Sleep well?” he asks.

“Mmm,” Sirius yawns. “Although you’re a blanket-hogger.”

“What! I Am NOT,” he denies.

Sirius arches a perfect eyebrow and peers at the bunched up duvet hanging off the bed. “Then how would you explain the fact that I’ve got barely an inch of duvet covering _my_ side, when clearly the duvet is hanging all over the edge of the bed on _your_ side?”

Remus tugs sheepishly at the blanket. “Not my fault…”

Sirius just snorts and drops back onto the pillows. Remus can’t help but notice the swell of his biceps. “I could make it up to you?” he suggests, propping himself up on his elbow and placing a hand on Sirius’ chest.

Instantly, something flares in Sirius’ eyes. He licks his lips. “What are you proposing?”

Remus moves over and finds Sirius’ body warm against his side. “I could help you wake up properly,” he whispers, burying his nose into the crook of Sirius’ neck. He traces a trail along the sensitive skin there, coming up to gently nuzzle Sirius’ earlobe.

A shiver passes through Sirius. “Yeah?”

“Mmmm,” Remus hums seductively, pressing hints of kisses along Sirius’ jawline until his mouth is inches away from Sirius’ lips. “Unless you feel you’re already wide awake?” He slips his hand below the duvet, stroking the smoothness of Sirius’ abdomen, the fuzz of coarse hair trailing down to his navel. He teases up and down with his fingertips, moving lower and lower every time. A glance at the slightly tented duvet shows him he won’t be disappointed when he finally reaches his destination.

Sirius is turning to putty under his caresses. He exhales heavily, eyes fluttering closed. “Remus,” he swallows.

“Should I try harder?” Remus smirks. But he feels his own body respond as well, his cock hardening where it’s pressed against Sirius’ hip. God he wants to touch the man!

As if reading his thoughts, Sirius moves below the covers, spreading his legs slightly. Then he reaches for the back of Remus’ head and pulls him in for a kiss. Their lips find each other with ease, as if they learnt a dance last night that they are merely continuing. Tentative tongues quickly turn demanding, searching, tasting mornings and eagerness and futures.

Turned on by Sirius’ enjoyment, Remus grazes his hand possessively over Sirius’ body, slipping even lower. He all but groans as his fingers find Sirius’ morning erection – hot and hard and begging for his attention – and just as Sirius’ hips angle up ––

–– there’s a stomping on the stairs outside the door, followed by a cheerful knock on the door.

Remus pulls away, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. “YES,” he calls out between clenched teeth, “what is it, Lily?”

Sirius, still slightly breathless, gives him a bemused look.

The door creaks open and a flash of mischievous red hair lights up in the morning sun. “Well, hello there! Good morning to both of you!”

“Did you want anything?” Remus asks as politely as he can. He loves Lily to bits, but honestly, some days he could murder her for her timing.

“Oh no, nothing, just… looking for my iPad. I wondered if maybe I left it here.” She doesn’t even pretend to conceal her attempt to catch a glimpse of Sirius.

Right on cue, Sirius raises himself up on his elbows and scrapes his throat. “Morning.”

Remus feels equally annoyed and impressed at the way he manages to sound incredibly galant and posh even when he’s just been interrupted mid-potential handjob.

“Morning… Padfoot Snuff,” Lily smiles pointedly.

Remus slumps back against the pillows and hides his face behind his hands. “LILY!” he groans.

He doesn’t need to see Sirius’ face to see him smirk all the way to the other side of London. Fingers pry at his hands, and he allows himself a quick peek at Sirius. It’s worse than he thought.

“Not stalking me, you said?” Sirius looks positively delighted at the sudden proof of Remus’ online crime. “So how come _your roommate_ knows my Facebook alias?”

Lily is leaning against the door list, watching the scene unfold. Remus knows she would have grabbed a handful of popcorn if she could.

“I didn’t – “ he feebly attempts.

“Hah! Don’t even try,” Sirius barks out a throaty laugh that makes Remus’ cock twitch with interest despite the horror of the situation. “I demand the full story! And if you won’t tell me, I’m sure your friend Lily here would be happy to help me out.”

Remus groans again, rolling over on his stomach and stuffing a pillow over his head, partly to hide his burgeoning erection and partly to ignore the fact that, apparently, Sirius is now bonding with one of his best friends by ganging up on him.

Even with the pillow covering his head, he can hear Lily’s cackling laugh. “The iPad’s probably on his bedside table over there, Sirius, feel free to scroll through my browser history if you want to see which picture he wanked over.”

“LILY!” Remus explodes, mortified and wishing he could just sink through the floor, bed, pillows, duvet, mattress and all. Preferably in a way that would have Sirius land right on top of him. He throws a pillow at the door, finally managing to make Lily retreat. Her giggling fades down the stairs.

“Don’t,” he raises a finger at Sirius. “Don’t even say it.”

Sirius looks like he’s dying to say it, but instead moves over and rolls on top of Remus, grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the headboard. Remus’ cock, trapped between their stomachs, twitches – which Sirius takes note of, judging by the sudden look of hunger in his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “There are other things I’d rather do than discuss you stalking me.”

Remus huffs, but signals his interest anyway by pressing his hips against Sirius’. “Such as?”

“Such as continuing where we left off before Lily barged in,” Sirius responds, before taking Remus’ breath away by kissing him fiercely. Remus parts his lips for Sirius, welcoming the tongue that possessively enters his mouth. His toes curl at the sensation, the warm weight of Sirius’ body on top, holding him in place until there’s nothing he can do but let himself be kissed.

When Sirius makes a slow circling movement with his hips, he moans appreciatively at the press of cock against his hip bone.

“God, you’re sexy,” Sirius whispers into his ear, and Remus feels a slow lick of a tongue against the stretch of skin just below his earlobe that always turns him into a puddle of want.

“Hnnngg?” he hums distractedly.

“I was just saying I love – “

“PANCAKES!” James’ voice calls out to them from downstairs.

Remus’ eyes fly open. “Wait. What?”

Sirius’ looks down at him with an amused smile. “Well, I guess’ you’ll never find out what exactly I love. Although I must say pancakes might just be in my top five...” At that, Sirius is rolling off him, naked arse sticking in the air as he bends over the side of the bed to fish up his T-shirt.

“No, wait!” Remus scrabbles up, “Tell me! I want to know!”

But Sirius just laughs, already hopping around in the room with one foot half in his jeans. “Nope, pancakes are waiting for me!”

“What the – wait for me!” Remus calls out as Sirius opens the door, pretending to head down without him.

The smell of James’ freshly baked blueberry pancakes wafts up at them, and Sirius pauses to grin at him over his shoulder, casually pushing a dark lock of hair behind his ear.

And suddenly, as he looks at the gorgeous man standing in his bedroom doorway, waiting for him to go have breakfast with his best friends, Remus knows exactly what he would put at the top of his own list of things he loves.

***** THE END *****

**Author's Note:**

>  **Note:**  
>  The portrayal of HIV in this story is based on the experiences of someone living with HIV and research I did as a writer. The medical facts in this story are confirmed by science. When HIV has become undetectable in someone's blood, for example, it is also untransmittable. Many people living with HIV live full and happy lives, with current HIV medication enabling them to have the same life expectancy as anyone else. And medical advances are still being made - the clinical trial Regulus takes part in is actually happening today. 
> 
> That said, there are as many ways of living with and experiencing HIV as there are of being human - so I didn't in any way intend to write the ultimate portrayal of what it's like to live with HIV. Healthcare routines also differ from country to country, so the practicalities of HIV treatment aren't set in stone. If the story had taken place somewhere else, perhaps it would be Remus' doctor rather than his nurse who'd run the checkup tests, or Remus would get his medication directly from the clinic rather than having to go to the pharmacy himself. (I hope you'll agree, however, that in this particular universe, it was for the best that Remus visited the pharmacy when he did... ;) 
> 
> **Thank you:**  
>  The biggest thank-you snog to my lovely friend Coruja for invaluable plot advice and heartwarming beta edits, to my darling friend Justin for gay-proofing this story, to my brother for expert advice on motorbikes and to Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum for input on the UK's healthcare system.
> 
> To adavison: I hope you liked my interpretation of your prompt and sorryyyyy for all the frustrating secrecy these past few months! Hihi!


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